


Shift

by jaicubed



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaicubed/pseuds/jaicubed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best friends and omegas Sam Winchester and Stiles Stilinski are finishing up their senior year of high school at the top of their class and preparing for their last summer in Lawrence before heading to California for college. Best friends and alphas Derek Hale and Dean Smith are drinking beers, working on cars, and trying to figure the rest of their shit out. After an incident throws the two pairs together, will the two overachieving omegas be able to fit two headstrong alphas into their color-coded five-year plans?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of this fic were originally posted on my Tumblr, bemyvalentinesammy.

It was almost midnight on a Monday in Lawrence, Kansas, and that generally meant there were only about four people out of their homes and not snug in their beds: the sheriff on-duty that night, the gum-snapping community college co-ed working the graveyard shift at the 24 hour gas station, and two particular 18-year-old alphas who didn't much care for "school nights." 

Best friends Derek Hale and Dean Smith often worked on their cars at night at the local body shop they helped out at after school. Singer's wasn't a fancy shop, but the boys felt at home there, especially because their gruff but kind-hearted boss Bobby always left a light on in the garage and often "forgot" to mention that those couple of beers in the fridge were off-limits for young alphas such as themselves. Derek and Dean weren't chatty guys by any means, but at Singer's, with a cold Bud in one hand and a wrench in the other, the conversation seemed to come easier.

"Ya think the guys would wanna go to that bar a few towns over this Friday? They didn’t card us last time. And the chicks were hot." Dean leaned against his Impala, wiping his greasy hands on the old rag he kept tucked into his back pocket. 

"I think most of the guys are going to that dance at school this Friday," Derek replied, sliding out from beneath his old Camaro. 

Dean snorted. “Man, our friends have gotten lame,” he sighed, taking a swig of his beer. “But you’re in, right?”

Derek sat on the hood of his own car and looked down at his boots, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “Actually…”

"Actually what?” Dean asked, his once-laughing eyes now narrowing. “You’re not thinking of going to that dance, are you?”

Derek took a sip of his own beer, taking his time before answering.

"Yeah, I guess I was, Dean. Never been before, ya know? Our friends are going…and not like we can’t sneak over to Ash’s afterwards for a beer, right?"

Dean shook his head. “I can’t believe this. My best friend, Derek Hale, in some monkey suit at a school dance. I’ve never seen you dance our entire lives, and we've been friends since before our canines came in.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

"I’m not going for the suit or the dancing, or the disgusting punch or the lame decorations, Dean. Just thought…"

Dean swore he saw Derek blush.

"Come on, spit it out Hale."

"Just thought…he would like it." Derek quickly filled his mouth with beer, looking down at the ground again.

"He?" Dean smirked. "Got your eye on someone there, buddy?"

"Maybe," Derek said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, we’ll take him to the bar with us. There were plenty of omegas there last time."

"He’s not like that," Derek said quickly. "He wouldn’t like it."

"Who doesn’t like a bar? Sounds like a nerd," Dean scoffed, polishing off his beer.

Derek took a deep breath and hopped off the hood, squatting on the ground to pick up the tools he's scattered in the hours they've been at the shop. 

"Ya know those cute brunettes we were terrorizing the other day on the quad during lunch?"

Dean, who had been flipping the cap to his beer in the air, stilled. 

"Yeah, I guess. What about them?" Dean responded casually, although Dean could hear that his friend's blood had started running a little faster.

"It’s one of them."

Dean was silent. After a few moments, during which Derek painfully awaited his best friend's judgment, he sniffed the air. Beneath the scent of grease and metal he was surprised to smell alpha- an alpha up for a challenge, for a fight. But Dean seemed to be so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't realize it, so Derek kept his cool.

"Dean…" Derek said cautiously. "What's going on in that knothead of yours?"

Dean didn't respond for awhile. He flipped his bottle cap a couple more times before throwing it a little too hard across the shop in the general vicinity of the trash can.

"Which one?" Dean said quietly. 

His best friend's scent was still in the air, and Derek could feel his hackles raising. He hadn't thought of hardly anything else but that smart little omega all week- for longer than that, if he was honest with himself. Dean's scent suggested that maybe Derek hadn't been alone in his thoughts.

"Why does it matter?" Derek asked defensively. 

"Just fucking tell me, Hale," Dean answered, his fingers clutching his bottle a little tighter.

"Why don't you tell me why you smell like you're about to go into a cage match?"

Dean licked his lips. They weren't sharing and caring sort of guys- no chick flick moments was the name of the game. And sharing feelings beyond the ones he felt with his dick when it saw a hot beta in a tiny skirt? Well, that was getting dangerously close to a territory that Dean really didn't want to enter. And fuck, if Derek's confession had come out of left field, Dean's was going to come out of Mars. Dean steeled himself.

"I guess we have similar taste in omegas."

Derek looked at Dean hard. "You're saying you're interested in one of them? Really interested? Or is this another ass for your bucket list?"

Dean gritted his teeth. "Really interested."

Derek stood up. "Which one?"

"I asked you first," Dean shot back.

"Fuck, Dean, this isn't the fifth grade. Jesus...ok, maybe… maybe should say it at the same time." Derek looked at Dean for confirmation.

Dean nodded. But fuck, he’d done such a good job of hiding his growing attraction to that pretty brunette, and now it was shot to hell. Typical Smith luck.

"On three," Dean said. "One…two…three…"

"Sam."

"Stiles."

The friends' feelings of relief were palpable, overshadowing all of the other feelings rolling around in their guts- ones they weren't particularly keen on examining when they considered to themselves the implications of the past five minutes. Not only had notorious troublemakers and greasers Dean Smith and Derek Hale admitted to actually having real bonafide feelings for someone, but for nerds, of all people- the type of people they had shot many a spitball at and swirlied in their days.

Dean and Derek looked up from their musings and made eye contact, the horror apparent on both of their faces.

"Fuck," they said in unison.

***

Tuesday night- the hardest of the school nights- found two omega over-achievers in a tidy bedroom in a modest but respectable home, Bach playing softly in the background. The Winchester house was study-central on Tuesday nights, when Sheriff Stilinski had the night shift and Sheriff Winchester took on his role, in his words, of the “glorified babysitter.” 

"Why’d you make me take AP Calc?" Stiles groaned, dropping his pencil on the ground and burying his head in the pillow he had been laying on.

"It will look good," Sam responded for the tenth time that afternoon, same as he had responded to Stiles’ other inquiries of "Why’d you make me take AP Bio?" and "Why’d you make me take AP Government?"

"Besides, I didn’t make you do anything,” Sam said, turning around in his desk chair to face his friend, who was still groaning in his spot on Sam’s bed. 

"All we do is homework," Stiles complained, looking with contempt at the series of squiggles that comprised his calculus homework. "We never have any fun."

"Fun won’t get us into Stanford," Sam replied, stretching back muscles that had been bent over a desk for the past several hours.

"That excuse became obsolete once you were accepted, genius," Stiles whined.

"Hey, that attitude got you into Berkeley, didn’t it?" Sam countered. "Besides, you know the game now is class rank- I’ll be damned if that twit Meg inches ahead of us."

Stiles didn’t respond, only mimed suffocating himself with the fluffy pillow.

Sam looked at his alarm clock- when did it get to be 9pm?- and his stomach rumbled as he did so. “You want to take a break? Maybe walk over to Gus’ and get some food?”

"That’s the best idea you’ve ever had," Stiles said, jumping out of bed and putting on his shoes. "A much better idea than taking AP Calc."

Sam rolled his eyes but smiled, following his friend out the door.

“We’re going to Gus’, dad!” Sam shouted at his father’s room as they hopped down the stairs.

“Bring me fries!” was John Winchester’s only response.

It was April of their senior year, and the weather was surprisingly warm and pleasant in Lawrence. Spring had sprung and while Sam could appreciate the breeze and the smell of flowers, what he couldn’t appreciate was the “love is in the air” vibes he saw his classmates exuding.

Case in point- one particularly amorous couple they passed on their way to Gus’ was leaning against the wall of the post office, kissing with quite a bit of vigor. Sam scoffed.

"I know we’re descended from wolves, but we’re not actually animals," Sam said casually. He didn’t bother to lower his voice, and the couple gave him matching withering glares.

Stiles looked at the couple. “They just mated, Sam- I saw it in the newspaper.”

"That’s not an excuse," Sam argued. "I don’t care what other people do, but why should I have to be subjected to it?"

Stiles had heard this speech a thousand times. He didn’t necessarily disagree with Sam, but he didn’t completely agree, either. He did what he usually did- nodded his head and let it go.

They smelled Gus’ before they saw it, the mouth-watering scent of burgers and hot dogs and fries wafting towards them. Stiles sighed contentedly. It was a rare day when Sam agreed to eat a burger.

As usual, there was a gang of their classmates milling around, talking, eating, laughing. Sam eyed a few more romantically-inclined couples with distaste but didn’t say anything, much to Stiles’ relief.

They ordered their burgers, fries, and sodas, and Sam lead them to a table outside, as far from the rest of the other teenagers as possible.

"You know, I think you may have antisocial personality disorder," Stiles deadpanned, looking at the space his friend has put between them and their peers.

"I have none of the symptoms," Sam said, ignoring the jibe. "I took AP Psych.”

Stiles shook his head and dug in to his burger, and Sam gave him strange looks as he made some particularly erotic noises. 

They were just about finished when they both were startled by the growl of an engine- make that two engines- as two cars pulled into the parking lot. The Impala and the Camaro parked side by side, and Sam stiffened as he saw leather-jacketed alphas climb out of every door, cursing and laughing as they did.

The group passed by Sam and Stiles. “What is this, greased lightning?” Sam said under his breath. Well, he thought he did, anyway- but one of the alphas stopped and turned, the others following suit.

"Got a problem, sweetheart?" Dean sneered. His eyes widened as he recognized the speaker, but he quickly schooled his features back into his typical Knothead facade.

"No, no problem," Stiles said, giving Sam a look. 

"Hey, aren’t they those omegas from the quad the other day?" Someone shouted from the back of the pack.

"Yeah, I guess they are," Dean said with a wink, sitting down next to Sam on the bench. "Gotta say, you’re fun to rile up, sweetheart."

"Don’t call me sweetheart," Sam replied through gritted teeth. 

"Unless you’ve popped a knot without me noticing, I can call you whatever I want, sweetheart,” Dean said, stealing Sam’s last French fry.

"They give you that alpha chauvinism for free with that jacket?" Sam retorted, standing up. "Come on, Stiles. Let’s go."

Stiles scrambled out of his seat, a French fry dangling from his mouth. As he rounded the table to join Sam, he bumped into one of the alphas lingering outside the group. He expected a nasty remark, but when he looked up, he only saw a warm smile.

"S-sorry," Stiles stammered.

"No problem," Derek replied, eyes twinkling. The alpha looked like he wanted to say something more, but Stiles was torn away by Sam. Stiles spared a look back and saw Derek still looking in their direction, not laughing with Dean and the other alphas. Derek gave him a tiny salute.

“That is why I made you take AP Calc,” Sam said, gripping Stiles’ arm tighter. “So we could get out of this town and not have to deal with the likes of them.”

Stiles pried Sam’s fingers off his bicep and didn’t respond. He didn’t necessarily disagree, but he didn’t agree, either.


	2. Chapter 2

While the rest of their buddies were spending their Friday night at the dance, Dean and Derek were sitting on the hoods of their respective cars in a field on the edge of the woods, listening to the gurgle of Rowell’s Creek. Even if Derek could have acquired the balls to ask Stiles to the dance earlier in the week, he figured after Dean’s behavior at Gus’ it would have been a moot point. 

While he himself hadn’t done anything wrong, he also hadn’t jumped to the omegas’ defense. Stiles didn’t seem to hold any ill will towards him, but he was always with Sam, who had been sticking his nose up at Derek’s gang even higher in the hallways this week than he usually did. 

Derek loved Dean like a brother. But sometimes, he could be a real pain in the ass.

"C’mon dude, chill the fuck out." Dean finished off his beer and looked at his friend with an annoyed sigh.  
"You’re being a total buzzkill."

“I’m a buzzkill?” Derek said quietly, hardly touching his own beer. “I’m not the one who had to rile shit up with the omegas. And now here we are, while all our friends are out partying at the dance, drinking beer by ourselves in the woods like fucking losers.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You were the one who didn’t feel like going over to Bartonsville to the bar like I suggested- so suck it up. And in any case, I don’t think we’re missing much. At least here we have alcohol.”

Derek turned an angry eye on Dean. “Really? You wouldn’t give up your precious beer to have a pretty omega pressed up against you? Maybe one named Sam? The one you said you were really interested in?”

Dean peeled the label off his beer bottle, his nonchalance affected. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind…sure, I’m still really interested in that pretty mouth of his, but he’s sure as hell not going to put out.”

Derek was furious. “You’re so full of shit, Dean! Stop being such an alpha fuckwit. Christ, you’re like a walking, talking stereotype!”

"You’ve never given a shit before!" Dean sneered. "You’re just pissed because you aren’t with your precious Stiles.”

"Yeah, I am pissed!" Derek yelled. "I like Stiles, and I maybe could have had a chance with him if you hadn’t gone fucking things up!”

"Yeah, right! Mr. Honor Roll giving C-student and shop kid Derek Hale the time of day? I don’t think so."

Derek looked hard at his friend, hurt and anger clouding his features. “Fuck you, Dean.”

Derek hopped off the hood of his car, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started walking towards the forest path.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Dean shouted.

"For a fucking walk, dipshit," Derek replied, his head down as he disappeared into the forest.

"Well this is just a great fucking night," Dean said to himself through gritted teeth. 

Dean may have felt just a tiny bit bad about what he had said to Derek. And he may have realized that what he had said may have had more to do with him and his mental shit than it did with the other alpha. But Derek would deal, right? They were brothers….right?

***

At least two people were having as lame a night as Derek and Dean, and they were currently sitting in Sam’s room. All hands were on deck at the station tonight because of the dance (which in Lawrence was one of the most exciting things to happen) so the sheriffs had begrudgingly left the two omegas home alone.

"Our first night off in weeks- no, months- and I am watching a documentary about whales in my pajamas,” Stiles sighed. 

"I thought you liked whales," Sam murmured sleepily. Sam was sitting cross-legged in between Stiles’ legs with his back to his best friend, while Stiles brushed his hair. 

While Sam usually chafed at traditional Omega aesthetics, having long hair, almost to his mid-back, was one thing that he couldn’t resist. Of course, he kept it up during the day at school- and always in front of alphas- but in the comfort of his own room, he indulged himself by letting it down and doing some traditional Omega bonding with his best friend. Stiles didn’t mind- it was almost as soothing for him as it was for Sam, even though it constantly reminded him how much he himself loved having short hair.

The down side was that it was usually so soothing for Sam that he had a tendency to fall asleep.

"That’s not the point- hey, wake up!" Stiles put both hands on Sam’s shoulders and shook. "I don’t want you drooling on me like last time."

"I don’t drool," Sam replied, still sleepy. He turned and collapsed on his side, his long legs draped over Stiles’ lap. Sam whined into his pillow. "Stiiiileeessss."

Stiles rolled his eyes and grumbled. “Geez, it’s only 9:30.” 

Stiles pushed Sam’s legs off his lap and tucked them under Sam’s blankets, then crawled underneath the covers himself. He opened his arms with a put-upon sigh and Sam snuggled into them. It was omega instinct, one that had never been strong in Stiles but very strong in Sam. Stiles hardly ever complained about it, but when he did, Sam quoted the most recent scientific study that showed that bonding between omegas made omegas live longer and happier lives. 

Stiles always wondered if the constant stress of over-achieving canceled that out.

Sam was snoring softly (and he did drool, dammit) while Stiles stared up at the ceiling. He loved Sam, he did- Sam was his best friend in the entire world, had been since they were little pups. He would lie for him, die for him, all that jazz. Still, he couldn’t help but wish that all 6’2” (and still growing, damn him) of his omega best friend was currently clinging to and drooling on someone else. 

Sam had steadfastly refused to go to the dance, no matter how many ways had Stiles suggested it. 

“Even Kevin is going,” Stiles had said desperately. “And he leaves his house even less than we do!”

“He’s only going because Meg said she would quit the debate team before the state finals if he didn’t take her,” Sam had said with distaste. “Only Meg Masters would stoop to blackmail to get a date.”

“C’mon, Sam. Blackmail or not, he’s out actually doing something. And Scott and Allison said they would hang with us, too.”

“Like I want to spend my Friday night hanging around with a recently-mated couple,” Sam had scoffed. “And all the other pheromone-driven sheep we have to tolerate. Stiles, we spend all week with those people against our will. I don’t want to spend my only free time with them, too. But if you want to go, by all means, go."

It was sort of okay in this day and age for omegas to go to dances without dates- but for an omega to go completely alone? Not happening. And although Stiles didn’t have the hate for the general population that Sam did, he couldn’t think of anyone else he wanted to go with…well…maybe there was one other person…

Ever since the incident at Gus’, Stiles’ thoughts had been straying to the alpha with the twinkling eyes. Derek Hale was the tall, dark, mysterious alpha of every omega’s dream- or, so the giggling first-years in the hallway seemed to think. 

Stiles had never thought much about alphas or betas before- mostly because Sam had created a grueling schedule of school and extracurricular activities for him that precluded any sort of, well, fun- but now, with a few minutes of peace, he thought about them. One in particular. And how nice it would be to have those eyes completely focused on him, strong arms wrapped around his waist, dark alpha stubble on his smooth omega skin…

Stiles was jolted out of his thoughts by a particularly loud snore from Sam, and for once he was kind of thankful for Sam’s noisy sleeping habits. He could already feel his skin getting hot and tight and a warm tingling feeling in his stomach- the last thing he needed was to get slick all over Sam’s sheets.

He needed to get out.

"Sam…Sam!" He pushed his best friend off of him then shook his shoulder. "Sam, wake up!"

"Huh? Wha…" Sam blinked. "Wha’s going on?"

"Let’s go for a walk." Adrenaline was coursing through Stiles’ body- he felt like he could run miles without stopping. He guessed a mixture of arousal and ADHD would do that to a guy.

"A what?" Sam asked incredulously, arduously sitting up in bed. "Now?"

"Yeah, c’mon. You’re always saying we need to get more exercise." Stiles was already changing out of his pajamas and into his jeans and t-shirt. He was lacing up his shoes by the time Sam was awake enough to speak again.

"Yeah, in the daylight, Stiles. Not in the dead of night. It’s dangerous, and I’m tired." Sam fell back against his pillow.

"It’s not the dead of night, it’s only ten. The dance won’t even get out until midnight, and all the cops are on the prowl because of it. We’ll be fine. Let’s go!"

"This is a stupid idea," Sam grumbled. 

"Please Sam…I just need to let off some steam." Stiles really did look desperate to get out, and Sam felt a twinge of sympathy. He knew how much ADHD sucked for Stiles, and was proud of how well he did even with the disability. 

"Fine," Sam mumbled. He dressed hurriedly and put his hair in a quick braid.

"Let’s go to the creek," Stiles suggested excitedly. "Maybe it will be warm enough to put our toes in!"

"The woods, Stiles?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Bring the Smith & Wesson," Stiles said flippantly, already heading out the door.

Sam sighed and looked at the locked black box under his bed. Omegas were allowed to carry concealed firearms with the proper training and a license, due to the history of assaults omegas had long faced from alphas. Both Sheriff Winchester and Sheriff Stilinksi had made it clear to their omega sons that they would be properly trained and ready should anything happen. Stiles was good enough to defend himself, but Sam was really good. He had won more than a few competitions under the proud eye of his father. It wasn’t that Sam had a soft spot for gun enthusiasts- it was just that any time that Sam just needed to get away and be by himself, he would go to the shooting range. That pretty much comprised all daylight hours when he wasn’t at school or with Stiles.

After leaving a note just in case, Sam and Stiles were on their way to the forest path, the Smith & Wesson in its holster. Stiles was bouncing with energy, so much so that it started to rub off on Sam. Sam had to admit that it felt good to run and chase his friend and play like they had done when they were pups. He was having such a good time that he didn’t realize they were already in the forest, half-way to the creek, when they stopped, breathing heavily.

"Next time, I get a five second head-start," Stiles gasped, bending over so his hands were on his knees. "Your legs are like, ridiculously long."

"Think you’d need a longer head-start than that to catch up with me," Sam said, grinning.

"Oh, really? Well, I may be slower, but I’m scrappy," Stiles laughed, lunging at Sam. They fell to the ground, play-wrestling like they hadn’t in years. When Stiles accidentally pulled hard on Sam’s braid, Sam rolled away with an exaggerated "Ouch!"

"Such a prissy omega," Stiles joked, and was rewarded for his comment with a growl and an attack from Sam. Stiles had managed to pin Sam down moments later when they both froze. 

Although omegas had an inferior sense of smell compared to alphas and betas, they had the best hearing. And they both heard rustling and whoops and hollers coming from the woods.

As the scents finally reached them, their hackles raised. They communicated silently.

Alphas. Unfamiliar. Hostile.

They sniffed the air again.

Drunk.

Sam and Stiles parted quickly and stood up. If they could smell the alphas, then the alphas could definitely smell them. This was confirmed when they heard a slurred shout.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, little omegas!" This was followed by raucous laughter.

"We won’t bite!…well, not a lot, anyways," shouted the same slurred voice, and the scent of alpha and alcohol became stronger. Stiles and Sam made eye contact and nodded.

Omegas in this situation weren’t supposed to run- it would only make the alphas mad and their instincts kick in even more- and even Sam’s long legs couldn’t out-run a pissed alpha.

Sam pulled Stiles behind him as the alphas drew closer.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The alpha who had shouted before grinned wickedly as he and four other alphas approached Sam and Stiles. "Didn’t anyone teach you omegas not to go wandering around at night?"

"Leave us alone," Sam said firmly. "We’re on our way to meet our alphas." The lie flowed off Sam’s tongue easily, years of training kicking in. 

"Sure," the alpha sneered. He sniffed the air. "It’s strange, though, I can’t smell any alpha on you two at all." He snickered, and his goons followed suit. The alpha sauntered over so that he was a couple of feet away from Sam. "It’s a shame, two pretty little omegas like you with no alphas."

Sam felt Stiles behind him, clutching his shirt. He was controlling his fear well, but Sam knew he needed to get them out of this situation fast.

"We’re leaving now, have a nice night," Sam said through gritted teeth, backing away from the alphas.

"But we’ve only just met," the alpha said with an exaggerated sigh. "There’s still so much more fun to be had."

"We’re good, thanks," Sam replied, still inching backwards.

"I don’t think so," the alpha growled. He snapped his fingers, and quick as lightning two of the alphas fanned out and grabbed Stiles, their nails ripping his shirt and digging into his shoulders. As soon as they had lunged Sam had un-holstered the pistol and clicked the safety off, but he wasn’t fast enough.

His heart was beating incredibly fast as he pointed the gun at the group of alphas, Stiles bleeding from both shoulders. There was a hand covering Stiles’ mouth and one on his throat.

"Little omega thinks he’s bested us, huh?" the alpha chuckled, his eyes turning dark. "You think about using that, your friend dies." 

The alpha holding Stiles removed his hand from Stiles’ mouth and cut a long gash across his chest for emphasis. Stiles howled, pain and fear cutting through the night air. Blood spilled out of the gash, staining his shirt red.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled, and his hand shook as he kept the gun trained on the alphas. He wanted to shoot, the smell of Stiles’ blood making anger boil within him. He was a good shot, could probably take down the alpha holding Stiles and two of the others before they managed to take the gun from him. But all five? He wasn’t that good.

Stiles’ eyes were panicked, his sounds muffled from the hand back at his mouth. Fear was beginning to cloud Sam’s thoughts until he heard it- leaves crunching and soft snarls. They all smelled it seconds later- alpha.

The alpha holding Stiles and the others looked to their leader for directions, their eyes turning dark and their hackles raising. Sam made eye contact with Stiles. Alpha. Familiar. Our pack.

The hostile alpha leader was drunk enough that he just shrugged. “Let’s see what this pack’s got.” He was too far gone to sense the absolute fury the approaching Alpha was exuding.

Sam could tell that Stiles was losing strength, but he still couldn’t risk shooting his captors. They were ready for battle now and one small move could kill Stiles. Sam had deadly aim on the range, but he hadn’t ever been put in a situation like this.

Another sound caught his attention, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge it. He listened, and the alphas smelled. Another alpha from Sam and Stiles’ pack. 

The drunk alphas once again looked to their leader. 

"Put the gun down, sweetheart," the alpha said menacingly. "Wouldn’t want to show up your alphas, would you? We’re going to take care of that."

Before Sam could respond, a dark blur crossed his vision as the scent of alpha overwhelmed him. He managed to hold on to his gun as he dropped to the ground, scrambling away from the fight he can now see about to take place. Two wolves, one a dark black and the other brown, were snarling at the other alphas. 

"There are shifters in this pack?" the alphas’ leader said in wonder, the others frozen in drunken, abject terror. 

As in reply, the black wolf growled loudly and bared his teeth. He lunged at the alpha holding Stiles, who promptly dropped Stiles on the ground. The black wolf bit a chunk of meat out of the alpha’s shoulder and swallowed it whole.

The black wolf, mouth bloodied, prepared to lunge again, but the injured lackey and the three others turned tail and ran off into the woods, leaving their shocked leader.

The remaining alpha looked quickly around, realizing how dire his situation was now that his packmates had left. He spied Sam, crawling his way to Stiles, and growled. But before he could even think about making a move, the brown wolf jumped and tackled him to the ground. The black wolf immediately joined his brother, claws and teeth bared as they pinned the hostile alpha to the ground. 

Sam finally reached Stiles and held him against his chest. His wounds were bad and bleeding heavily, but Sam knew he would be okay as long as they got out fast.

The hostile alpha was pleading for mercy underneath the two wolves, knowing that although it was frowned upon, it was technically still the wolves’ right to kill the hostile alpha for threatening and injuring omega pack members. 

The wolves looked angry enough to do the deed, but in the end they took a bite out of his leg and shoulder, cowing him into submission so they could drag him a bit farther into the woods. Only their silhouettes were visible, but Sam watched in awe as one of the wolves shifted back to human form and grabbed a rock, bashing it into the hostile alpha’s head and knocking him out for at least the next couple of hours.

When the alphas had both determined that there were no more threats, the other wolf shifted back to human form. They both spat on the unconscious alpha and walked towards Sam and Stiles, and as they got closer, Sam realized that not only were the wolves those knotheads Dean and Derek, but that they were both completely naked. 

Sam realized that these were extenuating circumstances, so seeing the alphas naked wouldn’t get them in trouble like it normally would. It didn’t stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks, so red and hot that he had to bury his face in Stiles’ neck. The residual angry alpha scent wasn’t helping much either, now that the threat was gone. 

"Are you two alright?" Derek asked, his hand reaching out to touch Stiles. Sam pulled his friend away instinctively, and Derek backed off, not wanting to spook the two omegas.

"We’re okay," Sam mumbled into Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles could only manage a grunt. Sam made quick eye contact with Dean before blushing and turning away, and Dean and Derek both looked at each other for a moment in bewilderment before it clicked.

Dean and Derek shifted back into wolf form and Derek loped away. He found his clothes where he had abandoned them during his walk, and after shifting back tugged them on quickly and jogged back to Dean and the omegas. 

"Meet you at the cars," Derek said to the brown wolf, who yipped and ran back down the path.

"He needs to go to the hospital," Derek said softly. "I can take him."

"I’m not leaving him," Sam said with perhaps too much fierceness, considering the alpha had just helped to save their lives.

"Of course not," Derek said, his voice calm. He knelt down to Sam’s level. "I’ll take both of you, alright?"

Derek’s eyes were kind, his scent completely friendly. Derek was pack. Derek was there to help.

Sam nodded and let Derek scoop Stiles up into his arms. Soon, Sam and Stiles were in the back seat of the Camaror way to the hospital, Stiles’ head on Sam’s lap. Dean followed behind in the Impala, not wanting to leave Derek alone in case the other pack got it into their heads that they wanted revenge. Unlikely, but you could never be too careful.

A few hours later Sam was sitting by the hospital bed of a freshly stitched and bandaged Stiles. The anesthetics needed to make Stiles’ chest stitches bearable were strong enough that he needed to be monitored over-night. Omegas were super-healers when pregnant, but without a kid? They were the worst off of the three types of wolves. 

Sam looked out the window of Stiles’ room. Sheriffs Winchester and Stilinksi were talking to Dean and Derek in the hallway. Sam had been too worried about Stiles to do anything but cling to him once they were at the hospital, but Derek had had the sense to call the station. 

Sam was surprised the alphas were still there, but after questioning them about the incident, the sheriffs had insisted on treating them to a cup of coffee. Sam had been invited, but he had opted to stay with Stiles. The same Stiles who was blissfully ignorant of what Sam was hearing in the hallway.

"-come over next Friday night and take a look at my old Chevy. Have a few beers, I’ll make my famous chili. What do you say?" 

"Sounds great, Sheriff," Derek and Dean answered in unison.

Sam’s mouth dropped open, but before he had a chance to say anything his father had come over to his chair. “How you doing, kiddo?” he asked. “Derek and Dean said you were holding your own with that pistol, not intimidated or anything.” John smiled proudly at Sam.

"Stiles still got hurt," Sam said quietly, his gut churning. 

"Coulda been a lot worse," Sheriff Stilinski said. "You did good, Sam. Although you two aren’t allowed out alone at night until you’re 50."

"Hear, hear," John agreed, chuckling softly and squeezing Sam’s shoulder.

"We’d better get going, sheriffs," Dean said. "We just wanted to make sure Stiles and Sam were okay." 

"Well, we still owe you boys one. Don’t forget, Winchester house next Friday, around 7?"

"Yes sir," the Alphas said, nodding.

"Oh, and feel free to bring your mates," Sheriff Stilinksi said casually.

"Oh… we’re not mated sir," Derek replied. 

"Really? Two nice boys like yourselves?" John asked, his eyes flicking meaningfully to Sam. Before Sam could die of mortification, a groan came from the bed, followed by a cough as Stiles’ eyes blinked open.

Sheriff Stilinksi was at his side in an instant. “Hey bud,” he said, smiling and gently ruffling his son’s hair.

"Dad?" Stiles said groggily, leaning into the touch. 

“It’s me, son. How are you feeling?”

Stiles groaned in answer. He began to fall back asleep before his eyes opened in panic. "Sam…Sam was with me…"

"Here," Sam said quickly, squeezing Stiles’ hand.

Stiles turned his head slowly to acknowledge Sam, and on his way there he saw Derek and Dean, lingering uncomfortably by the door. Derek stepped forward and smiled and waved awkwardly.

"Oh my God," Stiles said before promptly passing out.

This coming Friday was going to be super fun, Sam thought bitterly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but it helps to flesh out my 'verse a bit. I can't thank the hundreds of fanfic writers enough who have given me inspiration and ideas when it comes to A/B/O 'verses.
> 
> This has never been posted on my Tumblr, powerbottomsammy. *shameless self-promotion*

“The whole school’s talking about what happened on Friday,” Allison Argent said through her bite of apple. Sam made a look of disgust at her for chewing with her mouth open, and the pretty alpha responded by sticking out her tongue, complete with masticated pieces of Fuji on top.

“Uh, yeah, we know. People have been staring at us all morning,” Stiles responded, his hand reaching for his injured shoulder. He had healed up nicely, but there was still a nice mark from where the hostile alpha had grabbed him.

The group- known as the “Nerd Herd” by the less friendly members of the school- was sitting at some tables outside the cafeteria. Honors students had the privilege of having their morning study hall outside, and on a incredibly beautiful spring day like this day had turned out to be, it was more of a blessing than usual.

“I’m sure Derek and Dean wasted no time spreading the news of their act of bravery,” Sam said with distaste. “God forbid the whole world didn’t know they were shifters.”

“Actually, my mom thinks it was one of the nurses who blabbed,” Scott McCall replied. The beta male was laying with his head in Allison’s lap, his dark hair splayed over her jeans and a copy of their AP English book of the week laying on his chest. “She was working Friday night, and she said it was all over the hospital by the morning. And when Mrs. Hutcherson knows something, the whole town knows.” 

Mrs. Hutcherson was one of the hospital’s receptionists and a notorious gossip. They all nodded.

“I had health class with Derek first period, and even though everyone was bugging him about it, he didn’t say much,” Kevin Tran added. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you how Alpha Health was going for you, Kevin,” Allison said with a smirk. “Have you learned how to properly care for your knot yet?”

“Bite me,” Kevin replied, taking a vicious bite out of his own apple for emphasis. Kevin was the only other omega with which Sam and Stiles had any interaction, and had been stuck in Alpha Health due to scheduling conflicts not allowing him to take Omega Health with his peers. The administration had allowed it, considering health was a required course and they figured that it would be useful information for Kevin to know “once he was mated.” Sam, of course, had been furious when he heard that, and had only been stopped from complaining to the administration by a desperate Kevin.

“Anyways,” Scott said, steering the conversation away from that particular topic. “I had gym with Dean this morning and he wasn’t saying much either.”

“Probably don’t want to spoil the ad they’re going to take out in the paper,” Sam said sarcastically, closing his notebook that contained his finished calculus homework.

“Dean and Derek really aren’t that bad of guys,” Scott said, sitting up and putting his arm around Allison. “I mean, yeah they can be knotheads sometimes, but they’re alphas. What do you expect?”

“Excuse you,” Allison said in mock anger, poking her mate in the side. 

“What evidence do you have to support that conclusion, Scott? Because all they’ve been is horrible to Stiles and me,” Sam replied. Sam looked to Stiles for confirmation, but he didn’t respond, only taking out a juice box and shoving the straw in the hole with more force than was necessary.

“I don’t know, I’ve had a couple of classes with them over the years. Before this taskmaster whipped me into shape academically,” Scott said, and Allison poked him again. “They’re not dumb guys, they just don’t care about school.”

“It’s true,” Allison added. “They may not be much for papers or doing problem sets, but Dean fixed my dad’s car at Singer’s and he said that he had never seen a mechanic who knew cars like Dean did.”

“Derek did some repairs for us at the restaurant,” Kevin added. “It was just minor stuff, but my parents were really happy with what he did. Lots of attention to detail.”

“Well, I wish them luck in their repairing careers in small-town Kansas,” Sam scoffed, opening his own AP English book.

“You know, you can be a real snob sometimes, Sam,” Allison said. Ironically, she was the only member of the group that had the balls to say what the rest of them had been thinking for awhile. “Maybe if you just sat down and talked to them, you’d realize that they were pretty good guys.”

“Well, maybe I’ll end my snobbish ways and talk to them this Friday. My dad had the absolutely atrocious idea of inviting them over to his and Sheriff Stilinski’s weekly chili night,” Sam said with an eye roll.

Stiles spat out his mouthful of juice, just narrowly missing Allison’s face. “He did WHAT?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Sam said nonchalantly. Of course he hadn’t forgotten, but had been anticipating this reaction from Stiles and had wanted to put it off as long as possible.

“Jesus, Sam. What are we going to do?” Stiles said weakly, wiping off his mouth. “I mean, we can’t miss it, that’s like, punishable by death in our dads’ eyes.”

“I know,” Sam said. 

“Why would you want to miss it? Sounds fun,” Scott said. 

“Because!” Stiles shrieked. “How can I just eat chili casually with Der- I mean, them looking at me?!”

Kevin and Sam didn’t seem to notice the slip, only nodded in understanding. Scott and Allison, however, looked at each other with barely contained smiles.

“I’m sure your eating capabilities will be just fine,” Allison reassured Stiles, trying not to laugh. “But if you want, I can help you get ready beforehand.” She gave Stiles pat on the knee, and he seemed to understand the hidden meaning.

“Get ready for what? It’s just dinner with our dads and two knothead alphas,” Sam said, looking strangely at Stiles and Allison. 

“It’s nothing,” Allison said. “So, how about that AP English reading, huh?”

***

On Tuesday, Stiles had dragged along Sam with him to Singer’s after school. Sheriff Stilinski had insisted that Stiles properly thank Derek and Dean in person for saving him and driving him to the hospital.

“But dad, I’ll see them on Friday! Why can’t I just do it then?” Stiles had whined.

“Because it’ll look better if it looks like you went on your own initiative,” the sheriff had said. “And because I said so. Do it tomorrow.”

“But dad-”

“Stiles,” the sheriff had said warningly in his gruff alpha voice, and Stiles’ mouth had snapped shut.

“Fine,” he had mumbled.

And that was how the two omegas found themselves standing in front of Singer’s, the two large garage doors open and revealing the organized chaos of cars, tools, and several sweaty alpha and beta men working, cursing, and laughing.

Sam, who had been forced by his own father to tag along, was hoping that they could use this opportunity to try to convince the two alphas to skip out on dinner on Friday. Stiles was frozen where he stood and appeared he would be no help at all.”

Sam squared his shoulders and was about to venture in to the shop when Bobby Singer spotted him and walked over.

“Sam Winchester, is that you?” Bobby said, looking up at the young man. “Jesus, you’re tall for an omega. Your daddy said you’d gotten big but I’d never have believed him if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.” The weathered old mechanic pulled Sam into a bear hug, and Sam accepted it with as much grace as he could muster. Bobby was one of his father’s oldest friends, after all.

“Hi Bobby,” Sam said, his words muffled in Bobby’s shirt.

“And Stiles, isn’t it?” Bobby asked as he released Sam, squinting at the shorter omega. “Sheriff Stilinski’s boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles answered shyly. “Hello, Mr. Singer.”

“Call me Bobby, boy,” Bobby said gruffly, but with kind eyes. “So, what can I do for you today? Don’t tell me John’s gonna let his precious boy drive now.” 

“Actually, we’re here to see Derek and Dean. Our fathers have forced us to thank them in person by ourselves, even though we’ll be eating with them on Friday,” Sam replied in an annoyed tone. 

“Did they now?” Bobby asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, and when I asked why, my dad only said it would ‘do us good’, whatever that means,” Sam answered, flipping his long braid away from his shoulder and onto his back. “Could you get them for us?”

“Sure thing,” Bobby said, and Sam could have sworn he looked almost mischievous.

“HALE! SMITH! You’ve got some visitors here to see you!” Bobby shouted so loud that the two omegas winced.

The rest of the men in the shop turned at Bobby’s words and smirked when they saw the two omegas standing outside. Derek rolled out from underneath a particularly hideous minivan and stood, his back to the omegas, wiping his hands on his work pants. The green pants were so greasy they looked black, and his t-shirt and boots weren’t much better for the wear. Dean emerged from the bowels of the shop, and Derek turned at the same time that Dean spotted Sam and Stiles. 

Sam was standing with his arms crossed looking all kinds of put-upon, but Stiles was stock still, his hands clenched at his sides, a blush already rising on his cheeks. Derek and Dean paused for a moment before heading out together.  
“Hey Sam,” Derek said, nodding in his direction. “Hey Stiles,” he said a bit more warmly, offering the shorter omega a grin.

“Hi,” Stiles said softly, cautiously returning Derek’s smile.

“These boys got something to talk to ya about, I’m gonna go back in,” Bobby said with a wink. “Nice seein ya Sam, Stiles.”

“You too, Bobby,” the omegas said in unison.

“So, you’ve got something to talk to us about?” Dean asked. The alpha avoided eye contact with Sam, who looked particularly cute today despite the grimace and the arm-crossing.

“We do,” Sam answered for both of them, because Stiles was incapable of doing anything but switching from staring at Derek’s large bicep to a point just past Derek’s ear. 

“We’d just like to thank you for helping us last Friday, and for taking Stiles to the hospital. He’s almost completely healed now,” Sam said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Derek replied, giving Stiles another warm smile. Stiles blush rose again.

“And because we are so thankful and appreciative, we just wanted to give you an out for dinner on Friday. We know our fathers can get a little excited sometimes,” Sam continued, finally looking at Dean in the eyes. “I’m sure you have much better things to do on a Friday than sit with two middle-aged alphas and their sons eating chili.”

“Actually, I was looking forward to it,” Derek said. Derek looked a bit shy as he eyed Stiles and scuffed his dirty boot on the ground. “Should be fun.”

“The sheriffs are pretty cool guys, and we made a promise,” Dean added, looking at Sam, his eyes challenging. “We’ll be there.”

“Fine,” Sam said, not backing down from Dean’s hard gaze. “See you Friday.”

“See you Friday,” Dean said back with a nod.

“Have a nice night,” Sam said, turning on his heel. “C’mon, Stiles.”

Stiles turned to go, but before he took a step Derek grabbed his forearm. “See you Friday?” the dark-haired alpha asked.

Stiles looked in shock for a moment at the hand on his arm before looking up at Derek with wide eyes. “See..see you.”

“Good,” Derek answered with a smile and released Stiles. Stiles held his arm to his chest and turned, hurrying after Sam who was already a couple of yards down the road.

The alphas walked back into the shop, the rest of the men quickly returning to their tasks as though Derek and Dean hadn’t know they were eavesdropping.

“Nice boys, them,” Bobby said casually as Derek and Dean took a quick drink before getting back to work. 

Dean snorted, but Derek nodded. “Yeah,” Derek said softly.

***

The rest of the school week saw Sam still with his nose up, but soft smiles and small waves exchanged between Derek and Stiles when they happened upon each other in the hallway. Sam, honor student that he was, was befuddled by this behavior- even as Allison appeared at his doorstep at 5:30pm on Friday, a bag of supplies in her hand.

“Hey Sam!” she said brightly, pushing past the annoyed omega and into the living room, where the smell of chili was already hanging in the air.

“Hey Sheriff Winchester! Hey Sheriff Stilinski!” she called towards the kitchen, and the sheriffs waved their beer bottles in salute. The sheriffs were on-call tonight, but they figured it was high time the junior sheriffs got to learn how things worked on their own. 

“Is Stiles in your room?” Allison asked, already headed in that direction.

“Yeah, sure, come on in,” Sam said under his breath, following the brunette alpha to his room.

Stiles was sitting on Sam’s bed, idly flipping through a magazine, although Sam could tell he was keyed up. He jumped when Allison threw open the door with a loud “I have arrived with tools!”

“Hey Allison,” Stiles said weakly, eyeing the bag cautiously. 

“Don’t look so scared, Stiles. I’m doing your hair and make-up, not a heart transplant,” Allison said, dumping the contents of her bag on the bed.

“Hair? Make-up? What’s going on?” Sam demanded, sitting hard down at his desk chair. “Stiles never wears make-up. Have we time-traveled to 1950 without me noticing?”

“I’m not going to paint him up, Sam, just accentuate his natural features,” Allison replied with an eye roll. “You’re the only one who thinks it’s old-fashioned for omegas to wear a little bit of make-up.”

Allison was right. Most of the other omegas at Sam’s high school did make an effort with hair and make-up, although differently from how alpha and beta females did. It wasn’t that Sam and Stiles didn’t make an effort- they dressed nicely and were clean and well-groomed- but didn’t experiment with their styles the way other omegas did.

Most omegas were like Sam and Stiles and responded to “he” and had masculine names, because aesthetically omegas looked male. While Sam was abnormally tall for an omega, they were usually as tall as most beta males, had male-ish breasts, and male genitalia. What one couldn’t see with a quick glance was how omega hips flared more than those of alpha and beta males, and how their bone structure was more feminine. 

It was harder for omegas to gain muscle than alpha and beta males, and when it came to their male parts, they were infertile. But omegas were perfectly capable of bearing children with their interior female organs, and some omegas latched on to this part of their anatomy by expressing themselves as females, taking feminine names and responding to “she”, and dressing in a feminine matter. 

However, just like Sam and Stiles were in the minority with their lack of effort in the hair and make-up department, completely feminine omegas were far and few between. Most were somewhere in the middle, and that’s what Allison had decided was to be Stiles’ look for the evening.

“I’ll do your hair, then make-up, then your outfit,” Allison declared, gathering a comb and a tub of hair product.

“What’s wrong with his outfit?” Sam asked sharply.

“Calm down, Sam, we’re just going to change his shirt. I was at my cousin’s the other day and he said I could borrow it for the weekend,” Allison said, making Stiles turn on the bed so that she could work.

Sam sat with thin lips as he watched Allison. There wasn’t much she could do with Stiles’ short hair, but she was determined to do something. She plugged in a flat iron and while it heated parted Stiles’ hair on the side, and swept some onto his forehead. She curled the front piece with the flat iron and added some product so it would stay. She held up a mirror she had brought so Stiles could see. 

“Well, don’t you love it?” Allison squealed.

It wasn’t a huge difference, but after a lifetime of absolutely no hair-styling whatsoever, it was sort of surreal. Stiles looked at himself in awe for a few moments before grinning. “I love it.”

“Great! Now for makeup,” Allison said excitedly. Sam rolled his eyes but continued to watch.

Stiles complained heavily as Allison tweezed his eyebrows, and Sam felt sympathy for the first time of the whole experience. Everyone in the room was relieved when it was over.

“You have great skin-lucky omegas- but I’m going to put some foundation on to even things out,” Allison explained as she brushed on the make-up. Stiles had never worn make-up, and with his closest family being two masculine alphas and a reticent omega, he had never even seen it applied. He gagged as he forgot to close his mouth and got foundation in it, and his eyes watered as Allison swiped over them.

Allison applied some powder and then sat back. “Your skin looks divine.”

“You got make-up all over his shirt,” Sam commented, pointing.

Allison ignored Sam and grabbed a tube of mascara. She applied it heavily to Stiles’ already long lashes, and then added a very light blush to his cheeks. She finished applying some pink lipstick with a flourish. She grabbed a flowy, light blue shirt that had ended up on the floor and thrust it at Stiles.

“Put this on. Don’t ruin your hair. And no peeking!” Allison warned.

Stiles walked into Sam’s closet and closed the door, and they could hear hangers clanging together as Stiles struggled to put on the garment. When he emerged moments later, Allison squealed and jumped off the bed.

“You look absolutely darling!” she exclaimed. “I knew that shirt would look good on you. Don’t you think, Sam?”

Sam was too taken aback to reply right away. Stiles was blushing and smoothing the shirt out. It was a lovely cornflower chiffon that fell just above Stiles’ groin, with long flared sleeves you could see through. The torso part of the shirt was lined with blue satin of a darker color, and two pieces of chiffon tied together at the waist at the back. It was feminine, but made for an omega’s wider shoulders and slimmer hips.

“What do you think, Sam?” Stiles asked, shifting on his feet.

“You look great,” Sam admitted. “But you always look great.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, smiling at his best friend. “I’m going to go to the bathroom to look.”

Allison and Sam both heard Stiles’ gasp as he looked at himself for the first time, and he still looked shocked when he returned to the bedroom. 

“Wow, Allison. Thank you,” Stiles said softly. “I really like it.”

Allison beamed. “You’re welcome dear. You can wear those jeans and shoes with it, and look cute but casual. Derek will love it.” Sam and Stiles responded at the same time.

“Allison!”

“WHAT?” 

Allison clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Stiles! I forgot.”

“Stiles, I can’t believe this, after all these years of-” Sam began before Stiles cut him off.

“Sam! Just stop. I know what you’re going to say, that omegas shouldn’t have to pretty up for alphas. But I wanted to do this. You saw me at the garage the other day, I could barely speak around Derek. At least if I look different he’ll know I’m trying,” Stiles said. “Please Sam, just let it go, just tonight.”

Sam sighed. “So, what, do you like him or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles said quietly. “And I know I should have told you before Allison, because you’re my best friend but I knew you wouldn’t approve and-”

“Stiles!” Sam shouted before his friend became hysterical. “Look…I’m not saying I completely understand, because…because it’s Derek Hale, for Pete’s sake- but, if this is important to you, then it’s important to me, okay? You’re my brother and I love you.”

Stiles ran over to Sam and hugged him. “Thanks, Sam,” he whispered. “I just wanted everything to go well tonight.” Stiles put his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Don’t ruin your make-up!” Allison shrieked, standing up and pulling Stiles away. “I hate to break up this precious moment, but it is 6:15 and we haven’t even done Sam yet!”

Allison made sure Stiles’ make-up was back to normal as Stiles and Sam looked at Allison in shock.

“Did you tell her I would do this too?” Sam asked in a low voice.

“No, I swear I didn’t!” Stiles replied nervously. 

“He didn’t, but I’m telling you you’re doing it,” Allison said firmly. “Stiles would feel more comfortable if he wasn’t the only one prettied up, right Stiles?”

Stiles looked down at the ground and nodded.

“No,” Sam said. “I’m not doing it.”

“Yes, you are,” Allison said, flashing her eyes and using her alpha voice. Sam lived with one of the toughest alphas out there, however, and wasn’t easily cowed. He looked back defiantly.

“Fine,” Allison sighed after a few moments. “But at least put your hair down or something. That braid makes you look like the girl from Little House on the Prairie.”

“Hey!” Sam said indignantly, and Stiles hid a snort behind his hand.  
“C’mon, Sam. Just your hair, and some mascara and blush,” Allison said.

“Just the hair,” Sam countered. He would break his alpha hair rule in support of Stiles for just one night, but make-up? That was too much.

“Hair and mascara,” Allison shot back. Stiles looked at Sam hopefully. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Fine, but that’s it. If that lipstick comes anywhere near me…suffice it to say, I have a gun and know how to use it,” Sam warned.

“Deal!” Allison squealed for the thousandth time that evening. “But we have to go fast!”

Allison sat behind Sam on the bed as she took Sam’s hair out of his braid and brushed it out so it fell in waves down his back.

“You have gorgeous hair, Sam,” Allison sighed. Sam harrumphed.

She hopped off the bed and parted his hair to the side and applied some product so it would stay. She reached for the flat iron but jumped back at Sam’s subsequent growl. “Okay, okay, no curling,” Allison said, hands in the air.

She applied some mascara and stepped back, her lips pursed in thought. “You’ll do,” she said, and Stiles grinned at Sam. 

Allison packed up her things and kissed both of the omegas on the cheek. “Good luck!” she said over her shoulder as she left, and Stiles watched her bounce down the street, probably toward Scott’s.

“You really do look nice, Sam,” Stiles offered. The shorter omega then went to Sam’s closet and dug through it until he found a hung at the very back. It was the only omega dress shirt Sam owned, and he only had it because the old lady who lived next door had given it to him on his birthday. 

Sam eyed the shirt as Stiles held it up to his chest. “No way, Stiles. I’ve done enough.”

“C’mon, Sam,” Stiles pleaded. “It’s not too frou frou.”

It really wasn’t- just soft green cotton that long sleeves and flared a bit at the waist like Stiles’ shirt and had a lower neckline than usual, with a bit of lace at the hem. 

“You owe me big time,” Sam said, pulling off his t-shirt and donning the proffered shirt.

“Boys! Come down please,” John called up the stairs. Sam and Stiles looked at each other and gulped. Sam turned off the light to his room and they walked as slowly as possible down the stairs until they stood at the entrance to the kitchen.

Both sheriffs were leaning over the pot of chili, sniffing it. When they had determined it was satisfactory, they both turned at the same time and spotted the boys.

What happened next was… expected. John dropped his beer bottle so it shattered on the linoleum floor, and Sheriff Stilinski did an impressive spit take.

Fathers and sons stared at each other for at least a full minute before Stiles broke the silence.

“Do we look that bad?” Stiles joked weakly.

“No! No son,” Sheriff Stilinski said, jolted out of his stupor. “You…you look beautiful.” The sheriff walked over to his son and put his hand on his son’s cheek. “Really.”

Stiles beamed up at his father.

Sheriff Stilinski looked to John then, who still was staring at Sam. “I guess…we’re just not used to seeing you two all dolled up. Right John?”

“Right, right,” John answered, coming out of his own stupor.

Sheriff Stilinski and Stiles moved to clean up the mess while Sam looked away uncomfortably. 

“Sam,” John finally said. He walked over to his son and awkwardly put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. The Winchesters weren’t much for easy affectionate touches, and this time was no different. Sam would have laughed if he hadn’t been so embarrassed. 

“You’re…you’re good,” John said before turning away to help clean up. In Winchesterland, that meant a lot, and Sam smiled to himself.

They had finally cleaned up and were retrieving plates and cups when the doorbell rang promptly at 7pm.

Stiles froze in place, while Sam looked to his father.

“Sam,” John said, “I think our guests have arrived.” He nodded towards the door. 

Sam chafed at being made the omega door servant, but he dragged Stiles by his spot by the table to the front door. He took a deep breath before opening it.


	4. Chapter 4

“Please, Sam!” Stiles begged. He was sitting cross-legged on Sam’s bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. 

“No,” Sam replied firmly. He was sitting at his desk and scrubbing at his face vigorously with a washcloth. Allison had only given him mascara, but his whole face felt like it was covered in make-up. 

Stiles pursed his lips and was beginning to speak again when his phone rang.

“Hey, Allison,” he answered. “Yeah, I’m still at Sam’s.”

Stiles smiled huge after listening for a few moments. “Yeah…I think so. He…he asked me out. On a date.”

Allison’s shriek was so loud that Sam could hear it across the room. Sam rolled his eyes. Stiles listened to Allison’s subsequent chatter.

“Of course I want to go…but when he asked my dad, my dad said that I could only go if Sam came along,” Stiles said, looking at Sam hopefully. Sam shook his head, and Stiles frowned.

“Sam…hasn’t decided yet,” Stiles replied to Allison’s next question, biting his lip. Sam steadfastly ignored his best friend’s eyes and changed into his pajamas.

“Yeah, I hope so too,” Stiles said softly. “I really like him.”

Stiles hung up a few moments later. He picked at a thread in his pajama pants before looking back up at Sam. 

“I take it she was pleased with tonight’s turn of events?” Sam asked, searching through his toiletry bag for his hair brush. 

“Yeah,” Stiles responded, and he grinned. “She offered to do my hair and make-up again for the date.”

“There isn’t going to be a date, Stiles,” Sam said, sitting in front of Stiles on the bed and sticking the found hair brush in Stiles’ face over his shoulder.

Stiles sighed and took the brush. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so against it,” Stiles replied glumly, running the brush through Sam’s hair.

“I don’t understand why you’re so adamant about going,” Sam shot back. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” Stiles asked. He brushed through a knot with a little too much force, and Sam winced.

“I can think of four reasons right off the top of my head,” Sam said, holding up four fingers so Stiles could see. “Number one- I don’t want to play chaperone to my best friend and some knothead.” 

“But Sam-” Sam cut him off.

“Number two- the Monday after next Friday is when our AP exams begin. We need to study.”

“C’mon Sam, it will only be for a couple of hours,” Sam whined, and Sam shushed him.

“Number three- it’s Derek Hale, Stiles,” Sam said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What sort of reason is that?” Stiles asked, yanking a bit on Sam’s hair. “He’s a good guy, Sam. He was perfect tonight, the perfect gentleman.”

“Maybe tonight, in front of our dads,” Sam conceded. “But that leads me to number four- the most important reason of them all.”

“And what’s that?” Stiles queried grumpily.

“Next Friday is the full moon,” Sam revealed. He didn’t go on.

“And?” Stiles pressed.

“And what?” Sam asked incredulously. “What about that did you not understand?”

“Oh, I understood it,” Stiles replied. “I just don’t know what it has to do with my date.”

“Have you lost your mind, Stiles? Next Friday is the full moon,” he said, drawing out the last two words. “And that means next Friday you’ll start your heat.”

“And?” Stiles asked again petulantly.

Sam’s mouth opened and closed again a few times while he tried to find the right words.

“Stiles,” Sam began through gritted teeth. “You are an omega. Derek is an alpha. You will be in heat. What part of this are you not getting?”

“I’ve already gotten my suppressant shot, Sam, just like I always do,” Stiles said, throwing aside the brush. “It’ll be fine.”

“That may be so,” Sam said, turning around to face Stiles. “But Derek is a shifter- his scenting abilities are stronger than any other alpha in this town. And in case you missed Omega Health, just because you’ve gotten the suppressant shot doesn’t mean that your heat totally goes away.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware Sam. I read the same textbook you did.”

“Then why are we even discussing this?” Sam asked, turning off the light beside his bed and crawling under the covers. He was tired and annoyed and sick of talking about stupid Derek Hale and this stupid date.

“He’s a good guy, Sam,” Stiles said weakly, joining Sam under the covers.

“He’s still an alpha,” Sam countered.

“I think Derek can control himself for a couple of hours. Please, Sam…just think about it,” Stiles pleaded. “Please.”

Sam grunted.

“Please?” Stiles tried again. Sam sighed. He definitely wasn’t going to give in, even if Stiles did sound so invested in the idea. But what did it hurt if he gave Stiles some hope in the meantime? Surely Stiles would come to his senses and he would be thanking Sam for his good judgment.

“Fine,” Sam huffed, and Stiles made a pleased noise and pulled Sam into his arms for a hug. 

***

It was midnight and Dean and Derek were in a smoky bar in Bartonsville. Dean was hustling pool while Derek watched, a nearly-full bottle of beer in his hand. 

Dean sunk the eight ball with a triumphant grin. His opponent, an alpha with a scruffy beard and cowboy hat, groaned and dug in his pocket. He slapped fifty bucks in Dean’s hand.

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” Dean said with a smirk. The alpha tipped his hat and stalked off, presumably to console himself with a fresh bottle of beer.

“Sucker,” Dean chuckled when he was out of ear shot. He leaned back against the wall beside Derek, leaning his cue stick against a stool. He looked at the bottle in Derek’s hand.

“Forgotten how to drink, buddy? Here, I’ll show you.” Dean polished off his drink and belched. 

“You’re truly a class act,” Derek said sarcastically.

Dean shrugged his shoulders before waggling his eyebrows. “That pretty little number over there seems to think so.”

Derek looked over to where Dean had nodded his head. Sure enough, a handsome blonde omega sat with his friends at the bar, shooting glances over their way.

“He’s pretty, but he sure ain’t little,” Derek observed, looking at the omega’s long legs. He had to be at least 6’3” barefoot.

“I like ‘em big,” Dean leered.

“No kidding,” Derek replied. “I think the entire state of Kansas knows that.”

Dean had always had a thing for big partners. Big breasts, big asses, and big omegas.

“No fun if you’re afraid you’re gonna break ‘em,” Dean said, taking a sip of his beer. The omega was looking their way again, and Dean winked. The omega blushed.

“I think his friend’s checking you out,” Dean said in a low voice, elbowing Derek in the side. Derek didn’t even glance over, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, man, loosen up a little. The bar’s packed with babes tonight.” One particularly busty beta woman walked by the pool table and Dean whistled.

“I’ll take my chances with Stiles, I think,” Derek replied, his mouth turning upward at the thought of the brunette.

“Yeah, like that tight-ass Winchester is ever going to agree to be the third wheel,” Dean commented with a snort. “Think you’d have a better chance trying to take a unicorn out on a date.”

“Thanks for your support Dean,” Derek said sarcastically.

“Live to serve,” Dean said, standing up and retrieving his cue stick. “I’m racking ‘em up. What do you say to a little bro-on-bro game?”

“Just for fun?” 

“Yeah, grandma, just for fun.” Dean racked up the balls while Derek pulled a cue stick from the wall and chalked up.

Dean (not-so-graciously) let Derek break, and he pocketed a striped ball. He missed his next shot, though, and watched thoughtfully as Dean angled for the best move. Dean sunk the solid blue ball.

“That ball was sort of the color of Stiles’ shirt tonight,” Derek said without thinking, and Dean mimed gagging. 

“C’mon, Hale, please spare me the fucking Shakespeare,” Dean complained before standing up straight and affecting a dreamy gaze. “Thy shirt, as blue as a cue ball, thy lips, as pink as the gum on the bottom of my shoe.”

“Shut up,” Derek said gruffly. “He just…looked really nice tonight.”

\---Five hours earlier…---

“Derek, stop with the fucking shirt,” Dean growled as Derek smoothed out his white button-down for the hundredth time.

They were walking to the Winchesters’ from where they had parked their cars at Bobby’s, and Dean could tell that Derek was nervous.

The argument the two alphas had had before the incident in the woods still hung between them, neither of them being much inclined to talk about it. Dean knew he had been a dick, and Derek knew he had been a dick, so there wasn’t much else to say, right?

Derek smoothed out his shirt again, but Dean bit his tongue. If Derek really liked Stiles- and Derek really had to like someone to lose his usual black t-shirt- then Dean could be at least a tiny bit supportive. Dean decided it would be his good deed for the year.

“You look good, man, really,” Dean offered. Derek gave him a small but thankful smile. Deed done.

They were fifty yards from the Winchester house, and Dean squared his shoulders. It wasn’t Dean’s ideal Friday evening, even if a certain tall omega would be in attendance. And knowing that certain omega, Dean would have to be on his feet with come-backs the entire evening. 

But Dean had said he would be there, and Dean Smith never backed down.

He liked a good challenge.

Derek took a deep breath as they climbed the stairs, Dean following behind. Derek took another deep breath then knocked.

Ten seconds later the door opened, and Derek and Dean’s mouths fell open.

Sam was looking at them defiantly, as if daring them to say something about the departure from his usual appearance. If Dean had been capable of speech- and he really wasn’t, taking in the sinful waves of Sam’s long hair and the hint of lace at the bottom of his shirt- he definitely would have said something. But it sure as hell wouldn’t have been negative.

Dean recovered first and shot a quick glance at Derek, who unsurprisingly was still slack-jawed. Stiles was holding on loosely to Sam’s sleeve, looking at Derek from beneath his long lashes. 

If Derek had thought the omega was cute before, he was completely blown away now. He didn’t really care much about make-up or things like that, but Stiles was a knock-out. Derek was drawn to Stiles’ pink lips, unbelievably full and perfectly shaped. The things he would do to those lips…

“Please, come on in,” Sam said dryly, gesturing dramatically inside the house. 

“Thanks,” Dean said with an obnoxious grin. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He brushed past Sam on his way through the door, and the omega’s scent filled his nostrils. It was sweet, a mixture of an approaching heat and Sam’s own clean scent. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Stiles had stepped to the side to let Dean pass, and he looked up at Derek shyly as the alpha entered. Derek and Stiles looked at each other awkwardly, Stiles’ eyes on the patch of dark hair on Derek’s chest , showing where his shirt was unbuttoned, Derek’s eyes on Stiles’…everything.

Sam rolled his eyes at the pair and closed the door before following Dean to the kitchen.

“You-” Derek tried before clearing his throat and attempting to speak again. “You look really pretty.”

Stiles blushed and clasped his hands in front of himself. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Derek and Stiles entered the kitchen together to find Dean accepting a beer from John.

“You boys keep this between us, you hear?” John said, passing a bottle to Derek as he entered. He grinned. “Not like I’m going to call the sheriff or anything, but you can never be too careful.”

“Our lips are sealed,” Dean said with a chuckle.

“Thanks again for the invitation, sheriff,” Derek said, taking a seat at the table next to Dean.

“My pleasure,” John replied. “Not too often I have two bona fide heroes in my house.”

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust from his place at the stove where he was helping Stiles serve the chili. The last thing those two alphas needed was an ego boost.

“Not too often I get to eat chili that smells so damn good,” Dean replied, brushing off the compliment with a smile.

“My secret recipe,” John said proudly. “Proving with every batch that alphas can cook, no matter what anyone says.”

“Hear hear,” Sheriff Stilinski cheered, clinking bottles with John.

“It’d be more impressive if it wasn’t the only thing you could cook,” Sam said, placing a bowl in front of his father and the sheriff while Stiles served Derek and Dean.

“Shush, you,” John growled, but he was smiling. “Not all of us can be gourmet chefs like you.”

John turned to Derek and Dean with a proud smile. “My Sammy here can cook just about anything, really fancy stuff too. His blueberry pie will put a smile on your face for days.”

“I love pie,” Dean said without thinking. 

“We’ll have to have Sam whip one up for you then,” John said with a wink.

Sam grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy cooking- he truly did- but he had no interest of being the baker for Lawrence, Kansas’ alphas. Cooking was something he did to relax, something he did that reminded him of the bittersweet times he had spent with Mrs. Frawley next door when he was a pup and his dad was at work.

Sam sat down next to his father with his own bowl of chili, and Stiles sat down between Sam and Derek. After the appropriate exclamations at John Winchester’s culinary talents, the conversation veered towards cars. Dean and the sheriffs talked animatedly about John’s plans for his beat-up old Firebird, while Sam sat bored out of his mind and Derek and Stiles snuck glances at each other over their chili.

“Well, we can talk shop later,” John said, glancing over at Sam’s peeved expression. “How was school today, boys?”

Dean and Derek shrugged. “Same old, same old,” Dean said before eating a huge spoonful.

John and the sheriff chuckled. “That’s about how we used to feel, wasn’t it John?” The sheriff grinned at his friend.

“It’s true,” John agreed. “Don’t know how Sam and Stiles turned out to be the school-lovers they are.” John looked at Sam affectionately.

“Mary and Sarah were the same way,” the sheriff reminded John. “Seems like the boys not only got their good looks from their mothers, but their school-lovin’ too.”

Stiles flushed, pleased as he always was at the mention of his mother. Sam looked down at his chili. Mary and Claudia had both passed when the boys were still infants, and while Stiles clung to every mention of Claudia Stilinski, Sam had always preferred to avoid the topic of his own mother. He didn’t remember her, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“How about you, Sam? Stiles?” Derek asked quickly, wanting to bypass the topic of deceased mothers. “How was school?”

“Stiles got the highest score in the class on his AP Calc test,” Sam bragged. As full of himself as Sam was at times, he never missed an opportunity to spread the knowledge of Stiles’ talents.

“Wow, that’s great,” Derek whistled. 

Stiles blushed. “Well, Sam got the second-highest score,” Stiles added quickly.

“That’s fantastic, boys,” Sheriff Stilinski said with a smile.

“What about that paper I helped you with the other night?” John asked. By “helped”, he meant he had stood and hovered over Sam at the kitchen table, offering encouragement and pushing hot chocolate on to the omega.

Sam didn’t do work in the kitchen very often.

“I got an A+,” Sam said, scraping his bowl for the last spoonful.

“And Mr. Henrickson said that he thought it was so good that he entered it into a competition for AP Euro students,” Stiles said. Stiles was not one to let Sam’s talents go unnoticed, either.

“I bet Stanford and Berkeley are sitting back and patting themselves on the back for accepting you two,” John said, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re going to California?” Dean and Derek said at the same time, their eyes flicking quickly to their respective omegas. This didn’t go unnoticed by the two sheriffs, who smirked at each other behind their beer bottles.

“In August,” Sam confirmed with a raised eyebrow. He wouldn’t have thought Dean and Derek would have even heard of Stanford or Berkeley, let alone know what state they were in.

“But you’ll be here this summer?” Derek asked, his eyes turning to Stiles.

Stiles nodded and Derek tried not to sigh too much with relief. He sort of succeeded. Sort of.

Dean looked at Sam. AP Calc? AP Euro? Stanford? He had known Sam was a brainiac, but he hadn’t known he was that damn smart. No wonder he was such a tight-ass.

“Well, that was delicious, if I do say so myself,” John said, standing up. The rest of the table agreed. 

“I’ll do the dishes, John,” the sheriff said to his friend, standing up and grabbing his bowl.

“I’ll help,” Sam said quickly. Dean was staring at him from across the table, and it was making him uncomfortable. Stupid knotheads.

“Dean, why don’t you come on to the garage with me and take a look at my baby? I’d love to have an expert under the hood,” John said with a grin, and Dean finally tore his eyes away from Sam.

“Sure thing, sheriff.”

Stiles and Derek began a stilted conversation at the table while Sam and the sheriff washed up. When Derek made Stiles laugh, though, things started to go more smoothly, and by the time Sam had finished cleaning up, he discovered that Stiles and Derek had gone to the porch swing to continue their discussion.

The alpha and the omega were swinging slowly, their eyes completely focused on the other. Sam was shocked that Stiles could actually string two words together in front of the alpha, but he knew that Derek had a way of making omegas open up. At least, that’s what he’d heard around school.

Sam narrowed his eyes and moved to break up the party on the swing, but the sheriff grabbed his arm as he came outside.

“Why don’t we go see what your dad and Dean are up to in the garage?” the sheriff suggested, his eyes kind but his tone not leaving any room for argument. 

Sam hated to leave Stiles alone with Derek, but he grudgingly followed the elder Stilinski to the garage, where the Firebird’s hood was up and Dean had his shirt sleeves rolled up, grease already blackening his hands.

John was listening with rapt attention as he stood next to Dean while the young alpha explained something, gesturing with his hands. 

Sam watched Dean’s face as he spoke, passion and knowledge lighting up Dean’s face. He didn’t look like such a knothead then.

Sam shook the thought away and crossed his arms, staring resolutely at a license plate hanging up on the opposite wall.

The four of them stood in the garage for the next thirty minutes, Dean’s face occasionally straying to watch Sam twirl a piece of hair around his finger or brush an invisible piece of lint off the lace hem of his shirt. The omega really was striking. 

Dean got a shock when Sam actually joined in the conversation several times. Although Sam seemed to have zero interest in cars, that didn’t mean he didn’t know about them. 

“I taught Sam everything he knows,” John said proudly, putting an arm around the omega’s shoulders. “Damned if I was gonna have a child who didn’t know how to change a tire or switch out the oil, omega or not.”

Sam was taken aback at the rare gesture of physical affection, but to everyone’s surprise he leaned closer to his father, surreptitiously taking a whiff of the alpha’s scent. It made him feel safe and loved, and in that moment he could forgive his father for his obsession with everything automotive. 

Everyone had forgotten about Derek and Stiles until Derek approached the garage, rubbing his neck nervously.

“Sheriff, can I talk to you for a minute?” Derek asked the elder Stilinski. The sheriff raised an eye brow but nodded. The two alphas walked to the corner of the garage where they could chat in private.

Sam returned to the porch to find Stiles on the swing, looking out at the backyard with wide eyes.

“Did he do something to you?” Sam demanded, noticing Stiles’ hands shaking slightly.

“He…he asked me out, Sam. On a date. Derek Hale asked me out on a date,” Stiles said softly, looking up at Sam dreamily. “He’s asking my dad for permission right now.”

“So that means you said yes?” Sam asked sharply before sitting down hard on the swing, “What were you thinking, Stiles?”

“What are you thinking about, boy?” The sheriff asked Derek in the garage at the same time Sam posed his own question. 

“Well, sheriff…I was- I was hoping that you would allow me to take Stiles out next Friday,” Derek said, finally making eye contact with the sheriff. 

“Like on a date?” the sheriff asked, crossing his arms and flashing his eyes. The sheriff liked Derek, but it was good to put on an alpha front to start things off, at least.

“Yes, sir,” Derek answered. “I…I really like Stiles, and want to know him better.”

The sheriff’s expression softened when he saw how genuine Derek was. “He’s a great kid,” the sheriff said, taking a sip of his beer. “You’ve got good taste.”

Derek nodded and smiled a little. “I’d like to take him to dinner, and maybe to the park afterward? There’s a concert there that night, and Stiles told me how much he likes music. I think he’d like it.”

“Stiles has been talking about going to one of those concerts for ages, but Sam won’t let him out of the house,” the sheriff said with a chuckle.

Derek fidgeted, switching from his left to right foot as he stood under the sheriff’s gaze.

“Alright, Hale, you can take my son out,” the sheriff finally said, and Derek sighed in relief. “I think you’re a pretty good kid. However, I have one condition.”

“What is that, sir?” Derek asked, willing to do anything to be able to take Stiles out.

“Sam has to tag along too, at least this first time. It may be old-fashioned, but Stiles is the most important thing in my world, you understand?” The rest of the explanation was left unsaid, but Derek understood.

“Yes, of course,” Derek said quickly. “That’s fine.”

The sheriff smiled big. “Great. Why don’t you run along and let him know?”

Derek turned to leave. “And Derek, you better treat my boy right.”

Derek nodded. “I will.”

***

Dean and Derek had finished up their pool game, Dean winning as usual. Derek had been distracted as he thought about the night’s events, and he said so to Dean.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Dean said, cuffing Derek on the shoulder. “Real cute excuse, Hale.”

“Dean,” Derek said, looking to Dean desperately. “You need to help convince Sam to go so I can take Stiles out.”

“No fucking way, Hale,” Dean said. “This is your show. I’m not getting involved. I’ve had enough of Winchester’s stink eye for the rest of my life.”

“C’mon, Dean, he’ll listen to you,” Derek said. “I know he will.”

“Okay, I’ll ask him on our weekly coffee date,” Dean said sarcastically. “Derek, that kid hates my guts. He’s not going to listen to me.”

“He doesn’t hate your guts,” Derek said with an eye roll. “He just thinks you’re a knothead. Which, you sort of are.”

“Thanks a lot,” Dean said, playfully punching Derek.

“Just…tell me you’ll think about it?” Derek said hopefully.

Dean sighed. The things he did for this kid.

“Fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things- 
> 
> 1\. I am a sucker for dates and outfits. Excuse my inner stylist while she glams the boys up.
> 
> 2\. This story contains the use of guns for protection and recreation. I try to portray my characters using guns safely and responsibly, because as someone who enjoys shooting myself, that is my top priority. Please use caution when handling firearms, and refrain from doing so unless you are trained or under the supervision of someone who is.

Sam put on ear protection and a pair of glasses, flexing his hand before reaching into the bag on the floor at his feet.

He pulled out a leather holster and ran his fingers over the “SW” embossed into the side. It really was a lovely holster, a pungent, dark leather custom-made to fit the weapon inside like a glove.

Sam unholstered the Smith & Wesson .45, the stainless steel gleaming in the florescent lights of the shooting range. He smiled a little, the scent of gun metal reminding him of the hours he and his father had spent at the shooting range when he was a pup.

The pistol had been an early birthday present from his father. Sam had been speechless when he saw what was inside the heavy black case, knowing that this model was nearly $1000. John Winchester wouldn’t have any of Sam’s exclamations to that end.

John had simply ruffled Sam’s hair and said, “It’s not every day my boy turns 18.”

It was a beautiful gun. Sam usually went to the shooting range on Sundays, but with this beauty in his hand, there was nothing stopping him from going this particular Sunday.

There were a few other people at the range, all of them alphas, each of whom Sam knew by name. At any other shooting range a lone omega would raise a few eyebrows, but Sam was the sheriff’s son and a damn fine shot.

He loaded the gun and pointed at the target down the range, a faceless black piece of cardboard shaped like a man. He clicked the safety off.

This was the moment Sam loved the most, the couple of seconds before he was going to shoot. Sam focused and shot three rounds in succession, creating a perfect triangle in the middle of the target’s forehead. He grinned.

The target suffered three more triangles in its groin, heart, and forehead again before Sam noticed he was being watched. 

Sam’s good mood dropped when he turned and saw Dean Smith behind him, watching him intently. Sam decided that ignoring the alpha was the best policy, so he turned back to the target and flipped a switch so it moved farther away by about 50 yards.

Dean admired the omega from behind. If he had thought Sam was striking in the garage on Friday, Sam with a gun in his hand was pretty much sex on legs. Very long legs.

Three shots pierced the air, and Dean saw that Sam had nailed the target in the forehead, three holes grouped perfectly even at the incredibly long distance. Dean vaguely remembered that Sam competed in shooting competitions, but damn. This omega was good.

When Dean hadn’t left, Sam sighed in annoyance and clicked the safety on before holstering his gun. He removed his ear protection and turned to Dean.

“What do you want?” Sam huffed, crossing his arms.

Dean didn’t think Sam really wanted him to answer that question, so he shrugged. “Just here for a little Sunday shooting, just like you.”

Dean nodded to Sam’s gun. “That’s a real beauty. Smith & Wesson .45?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, fingering the leather. “It was a birthday gift from my father.”

Dean whistled. “Some birthday gift. All I got for my 18th birthday was a slap on the shoulder and a six-pack.”

Sam didn’t respond. He knew that Dean’s family didn’t have much money, and it always made him uncomfortable to have nice things when others didn’t.

It must have been the pity that made him look Dean in the eye and say, “Would you like to try it?”

Dean’s eyes widened before he quickly schooled his features back to nonchalance. “Sure, why not.”

Sam passed the gun safely to Dean. The alpha held it in his hand a moment, something akin to awe passing over his face before he turned to the range. He removed the safety and shot, the bullets piercing the target’s forehead in the exact same spots as Sam’s.

He grinned and clicked the safety back on before returning the gun to Sam. “That was incredible. That gun shoots like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Dean nodded back to the target. “I’ve also never seen an omega shoot like that.”

Sam lifted his head defiantly. “Maybe if you actually treated omegas like people instead of meat, you’d notice that they can do anything that alphas can.”

Dean bristled and held up his hands. “Jesus, Sam, I was just giving you a compliment. No need to bite my freakin’ head off.”

Sam sighed and crossed his arms again. “What do you want, Dean?”

“What makes you think I want something? I came here to shoot, just like you.” Dean pointed to the gun at his hip.

“Because the only reason that alphas like you talk to me is because they want something. What is it, Dean? Want me to write your English paper for you? Do your math homework?” Sam gritted his teeth.

Dean scoffed. “Please, like I care enough about that shit to ask the high-and-mighty Winchester for help.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just raised one eyebrow.

Dean rubbed his neck roughly. Christ, he had just come here to shoot. But when he had seen Sam…he had hardly been in control of his feet when he had walked over. He had thought about Sam, spouting off ideas for the Firebird in the garage, his scent mixed with grease and metal.

Thinking about the garage reminded him of Derek. Fucking Derek and his stupid fucking date. Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Well, here he was, with the tight-ass right in front of him.

“Actually…” Dean began, and Sam almost smirked, knowing he was right. Sam braced himself for Dean’s request.

“Look, Sam, I didn’t want to get involved but Derek is my friend- my brother…” Dean looked at Sam, and the omega gestured dramatically for him to continue.

“I know the only way that Derek can take out Stiles is if you go, too. I don’t get it, and I sure as hell am just as against it as you are…but Derek’s a good guy, alright? He’ll show Stiles a good time.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away uncomfortably.

“A good time, huh?” Sam sneered. “That’s just why I won’t allow him to go.”

Dean picked up on the omega’s meaning and clenched his fists. “Look, Winchester, I know you’ve got some vendetta against alphas, but don’t you dare say that shit about my friend. Derek wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone your precious Stiles.” Dean laughed ironically and threw up his hands.

“You know, you called me out for treating omegas like meat, but you’re no better, you know that? You think all alphas are just morons sitting around panting with their knots hanging out. Well let me tell you something- you’re wrong. Especially about Derek.” Dean kicked a shell on the floor in frustration.

“Spare me, Dean. I’ve heard enough about Derek’s exploits to fill two books and a documentary,” Sam replied, his eyes flashing. “Stiles isn’t going anywhere with him.”

“Heard what? Where? In the bathroom at school? Some idiot first-year pass you a note in class? Not everything you hear is true, Sam. People shit on Derek all the time because of his family, but Derek isn’t like them. I’m his best fucking friend. I know him better than anyone else.” Dean was breathing heavily in anger.

Sam glanced over down the shooting range, where several alphas were watching the proceedings with interest. 

“Listen, Dean- it’s real sweet that you’re defending him. But even if what you’re saying is true, I’m not going to sit around and watch Stiles waste his time,” Sam said in a low voice, drawing closer.

“Waste of time, huh?” Dean shook his head. “Your nose is so far up in the air, Sam, I don’t know how you don’t drown when it rains.”

“Stiles is my best friend,” Sam said harshly in a near-whisper. “And if you want to defend Derek, that’s fine. But I have a right to protect my own, too.”

“Sure you do. Why do you think the sheriff wants you to go along on the date? Derek may be a shifter, but he doesn’t stand a chance against you, especially if you go Annie Oakley on him,” Dean whispered back.

Sam pursed his lips. Intellectually, he knew Dean was right. Sam wouldn’t let anything happen to Stiles if the omega was in his sight. 

Sam wanted Stiles to be happy. But why did happy have to entail going on a date with Derek Hale? 

Dean saw the shift in Sam’s eyes. “Look, Sam, I know it sucks being the third wheel-”

“What?!” Sam cried. “I’m the chaperone!”

Dean held up his hand. “-and since we’re both trying to do the right thing here, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tag along too.”

It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and Dean stood, sort of in shock. What the fuck had he just offered?

Sam laughed incredulously. “Oh, not one, but two knothead alphas? Oh golly, I’m just dying to go now!”

Dean rubbed his face in frustration. Jesus, Derek owed him a fucking bar full of a liquor for this shit. But Dean Smith didn’t give up.

Dean looked up and was about to respond when the Smith & Wesson glinted and it caught his eye. Dean licked his lips in thought as an idea formed in his head.

“Alright, Winchester,” Dean began, sauntering up to the stall beside the omega. “Whoever nails the target in the head- and I mean three perfect shots right in the noggin- at 1000 yards, gets their way. If you win, the date is off. If I win, we tag along with the lovebirds on their date.”

Dean unholstered his pistol and set it on the counter. “My shitty, 50-year-old Ruger against your shiny new toy.” He raised his eyebrow in challenge.

Sam snorted. “Please. I’m not wagering my friend’s safety on a stupid competition.”

“Please, Sam. You’ll be out with two unarmed alphas, one who is too stupidly gaga over an omega named Stiles to do anything remotely dangerous and another who will probably die from boredom before the night is through.” 

Sam thought that was probable- dinner and a concert wasn’t exactly Dean’s idea of a fun Friday night.

It was that thought, of being able to deprive Dean of his usual alpha debauchery, that finally made Sam cave. Even if he lost- and Sam almost laughed at the thought- it would actually be a win.

“Fine,” Sam said, putting his own weapon on the counter. Dean smirked and held out his hand.

“Rock paper scissors to see who shoots first?”

“Just go,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could go back to enjoying his Sunday.

Dean shrugged and moved his target down the range. He took his time adjusting himself and his stance until he finally unclicked the safety and shot.

Apparently Dean wasn’t that bad of a shot himself, because when the alpha and the omega looked at the target, there they were- three holes in the center of the target’s head.

Dean grinned. Sam sniffed and squared his shoulders before moving his target farther down the range.

He had shot at this distance a million times, and with hundreds of eyes on him to boot. He lifted his gun and shot, and predictably, three bullets were lodged in the target’s head.

“Well, that was fun. What do you suggest we do now? A duel at dawn?” Sam asked sarcastically.

Dean smirked. “2500 yards.”

Sam nodded, affecting a self-assured attitude that was at odds with his gut. Sam was pretty skilled at 1500 yards, and 2000 was doable on a good day. But 2500? 

As was custom, since Dean went first on the first shot, Sam went first this time. He moved his target even farther back, took a deep breath, and aimed.

All three shots landed on the target square on the nose. Sam cursed internally- he had a tendency to aim too low on long distances. He could only hope that Dean had the same tendency.

Dean whistled. “Not bad, Winchester. Most alphas I know would have shot that target clear in the knot.”

“Just shoot,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

Dean moved his target. Sam could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, which meant that Dean could probably hear it too. This was confirmed when the alpha looked over. “Nervous?”

Sam looked away and crossed his arms. He closed his eyes, three shots ringing out moments later.

When he opened them, his heart sunk. Dean had done it- nailed the target right in the forehead.

Sam felt a faint blush on his cheeks, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He didn’t lose at anything, especially shooting. 

He expected Dean to gloat, to announce to the whole range that he had won. But Dean surprised him.

“What do you think under-achievers like me do when you and the rest of the nerds are hitting the books, Sam? For me, if it’s not cars, it’s guns.” Dean shrugged and holstered his gun. He turned and walked towards the exit.

“See you Friday,” Dean called over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

***

Sam was in a bad mood.

Kevin, Allison, and Scott had long since given up on trying to engage him in conversation and were currently chatting among themselves while they ate lunch in the quad.

Sam picked at his sandwich and scowled. He had moved beyond bitter and into resentful about thirty minutes ago. This was all Stiles’ fault. If he hadn’t wanted to go out that day, then they wouldn’t have met the dumb alphas in the woods and Derek and Dean wouldn’t have had to save them and he wouldn’t have lost the dumb competition and he wouldn’t currently be sitting here, doomed.

Sam had spared Stiles the details of the shooting range, only imparting the news that he would indeed be accompanying them on the date. But not even the memory of Stiles’ face- lit up with happiness when Sam had told him the news- was helping. 

Sam threw away his sandwich and stood up, not bothering to say goodbye to his friends as he stalked off to his locker. And as if the day could not get any worse, Derek Hale approached him as he was roughly putting his books away.

“Sam?” Derek said hesitantly.

“What?” Sam growled, and Derek stepped back in surprise.

“I…I just wanted to say thanks, you know…for agreeing. About Friday.”  
Sam snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call it agreeing. More like conned into.”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, Dean told me about yesterday…but, I think it’s for the best, you know? I really like Stiles and…and I promise that I’ll treat him right.”

Sam closed his locker with a bang. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Sam walked away, his books clutched to his chest.

“Sam!” Derek called, jogging a little to catch up with the omega.

“If it helps at all…I think Dean is looking forward to Friday, too,” Derek said, attempting a smile.

“Actually, I think Dean may be the only person on the planet who is dreading this Friday as much as I am,” Sam replied before heading towards AP Calc, leaving an exasperated Derek in the middle of the hallway.

***

Stiles sighed for the hundredth time that evening, and Sam threw his pencil down on the desk. Between yesterday’s run-in with Derek and Stiles’ perpetual sighing, it was shaping up to be one hell of an awful Tuesday night.

Sam turned in his chair and glanced at Stiles’ notebook. It had been an hour, and he was still on the first problem.

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles?!”

Stiles jumped. “Jesus, Sam, you scared me!”

“Good!” Sam countered. “You’ve been on that problem since we got home. Stop sighing all over the derivatives and get to work.”

“I’m trying,” Stiles whined, rolling over onto his back. “I just…”

“You just what?”

“I…I can’t stop thinking about Derek,” Stiles admitted sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with red. Stiles and Derek had talked every night on the phone since Sunday, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Stiles felt the need to share every insignificant tidbit with Sam. 

Sam was a pretty patient person, but when Stiles had gushed that Derek loved curly fries too, and oh my goodness they had so much in common, Sam had wanted to throttle his friend.

He sort of wanted to throttle him now. “I’m going to the kitchen,” Sam announced, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

John was in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. When he saw the look on Sam’s face, he wordlessly passed the cup in his hand to his son, who accepted it gratefully.

“You look like you could use a break,” John observed. “Why don’t you come sit with me on the porch for awhile?” 

It had been a few days since Sam had seen his father for any great length of time, so he nodded and headed out on to the porch. He sat down on the swing, and moments later John joined him, putting his arm on the seat behind Sam.  
“Dave said he saw you at the range on Sunday shooting the new gun. How was it?” John asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“It shot great,” Sam answered, subconsciously leaning closer to his father. The alpha’s scent was soothing after several days of being annoyed by everyone and everything.

“He said you nailed the target at 2500 yards,” John said casually.

Sam stiffened. “On the nose,” Sam confirmed, and Sunday’s shame came flooding back. 

“That’s pretty damn good for someone who hasn’t been training for a competition in a month and a half,” John said, ruffling Sam’s loose hair. 

“I guess,” Sam said, looking up at the stars. 

“Dave also mentioned that he saw you talking to Dean Smith,” John said, affecting indifference as he glanced at his son. “What did he have to say?”

“Not much,” Sam answered under his breath. 

John shifted uncomfortably, and Sam recognized it as the prelude to some awkward parenting question. He grimaced.

“Stilinski mentioned something about you maybe going out with Derek and Stiles this Friday?” John said, rubbing his neck. “I only ask because I was thinking about taking you to a shooting competition over in Bartonsville that night.”

Sam shook his head. “The maybe has turned into a definitely- unfortunately. With the bonus of one Dean Smith.” 

“You don’t sound too happy about it,” John said, taking a sip of his coffee and eyeing his son.

“What’s there to be happy about?” Sam demanded. He and his father didn’t really do emotions that often, but Sam couldn’t hold back this night.

“I don’t know- sounds like it could be fun,” John replied carefully.

“Oh yes, the epitome of fun- baby-sitting two 18-year-olds making googly eyes at each other and forced association with potentially the greatest knothead in existence,” Sam said sarcastically. 

“It’s only for a couple of hours,” John said. “You can stand it. Believe me, I used to tag along on dates with Stilinski and Claudia before I started dating your mother, and Stiles can’t be nearly as bad as he was. I think he gave her a new pet name every time we went out.”

“Stiles told me that he and Derek were soul mates because they both loved guacamole,” Sam said seriously, and John laughed.

“Sam, I know I’m not real great at this fatherly advice stuff…but I’ll tell you this. Just stick it out. I know it isn’t real fun being around Stiles right now, or seeing him move in a direction you’d rather he’d not move in…but he’s telling you anything and everything because he trusts you.” John took a swig of his coffee.

“This relationship stuff…it’s scary, Sam. Hell, I’m an alpha and a sheriff, and I still get scared as all get out when I think of the first time I asked your mother out. He needs you right now, Sam.” John elbowed Sam gently. 

“Derek and Dean are good guys. Stilinski and I wouldn’t let you go out with them if we didn’t think so.”

Sam sighed. He knew that was true, at least. And when he thought back on the past couple of days, Stiles had to have called him as much as he had called Derek. 

John seemed to read Sam’s thoughts. “Stiles is a good friend, Sam.”

Sam nodded and stood up. “Thanks, dad.”

“No problem, son.”

Sam entered his room to find Stiles sitting cross-legged on the bed, Sam’s hair brush in his hand. Stiles held up the brush and looked at Sam hopefully.

Sam sat down in front of his best friend and closed his eyes as the other omega brushed out his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Stiles said quietly. “I know…I know you’re not happy about all of this…and I know I’ve been talking about Derek a lot…”

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Sam responded, and Sam was surprised to realized that he truly meant it. 

Stiles dropped the brush and wrapped his hands around Sam’s middle, burying his face in Sam’s hair. “I’m glad you’re coming on Friday.”

Sam chuckled. “Because you wouldn’t be going otherwise.”

“No,” Stiles said firmly, holding Sam tighter. “Do you remember the time in the third grade when I had to give that book report in front of the whole class?”

“And you dry-heaved every time you got up in front of the class because you were so nervous?”

Stiles chuckled. “That’s the time. And do you remember the only way I could actually manage to give the report?”

Sam thought for a moment. “Mrs. Martin made me come to the front of the class and hold your hand while you read.”

Stiles breathed in Sam’s scent. “This is like that, Sam. You know, without the hand-holding.”

“You’re saying you’re going to throw up on Derek if I don’t come along?” Sam teased.

“No,” Stiles murmured. “I’m saying that every time I had to present in class after that, I imagined you were standing beside me, holding my hand. You’re so brave, Sam- and…and it rubs off on me. I’m definitely going to need that on Friday.”

The two omegas sat in silence for several moments, listening to the other breathe.

“Well, I’m going to be there,” Sam said softly. “I’m always going to be there, alright?”

***

It was this logic that found Sam in the front seat of Allison’s car on Thursday evening, trying to do practice problem sets as they sped down the highway.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘mate gets shotgun’?” Scott complained from the back seat, fidgetting uncomfortably. Stiles was next to him, trying valiantly to dodge his flailing arms.

“Do you want Sam to be crippled by the time we get to the mall?” Allison shot back, winking at Sam. “My personal rule is that the tallest gets shot gun.”

“All of this would have been avoided if you had just left me to study in peace,” Sam said, cursing as they hit a bump and his pencil broke.

“Stop being such a downer, Sam. We’re going to the mall, not the guillotine,” Allison replied, turning on the radio.

“Same difference,” Sam mumbled.

The foursome were on their way to Greenburg, a town about an hour away that boasted not only a mall, but an actual chain restaurant. Allison had insisted on taking Stiles out shopping to find something for his date on Friday, and when Sam had suggested any number of stores in Lawrence, Allison had scoffed.

“Please, Sam,” she had said, tugging him off the ground, his books flying everywhere. “Stiles need something unique, not the same damn shirt that every omega in town got on Main Street.”

Sam wished his father hadn’t let him go when the two omegas had stopped by the station to let the sheriffs know what was going on. The sheriffs had only nodded and tucked some bills into their sons’ pockets.

“Have fun,” John said before disappearing into the back.

Sam had actually gotten a fair amount of studying done by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the mall. They headed straight to the mall’s only department store, and the four of them stood at the entrance.

“Well, I just need some jeans,” Scott said, pointing to the alpha and beta section. “Just call me when you’re finished.”

“I only need jeans too,” Sam said, and he moved to follow Scott when Allison grabbed his wrist.

“I don’t think so, Sam,” Allison tsked. “You’re coming with us.”

“But I only need jeans, and the only jeans the omega section has are made for short people,” Sam complained, as Stiles gave him an indignant “Hey!”

A soft chuckle sounded behind them, and they all turned. The omega salesperson smiled warmly at Allison and Stiles before winking at Sam.

“The jeans for you exist, you just have to search a little harder,” the omega said. He was as tall as Sam, with the same long brown hair, but at least six months pregnant.

“And as an omega in a similar predicament, I know exactly where they are hidden. I’d be happy to show you some of our selection.” The omega looked at Allison. Even in this day and age, salespeople and other service workers still deferred to the alpha present for permission.

While Sam usually chafed at the practice, he hoped that Allison would actually flash her eyes or growl or do something. But the brunette only beamed at the salesperson, and Sam reluctantly followed the omega to a shelf with piles and piles of jeans.

Sam could hear Allison and Stiles sifting through the racks, and he tried to pay attention as the omega hummed to himself and searched through the piles. He was about to pull out a pair of dark denim jeans, but when Sam blanched at the rhinestones on the back pockets, the sales person laughed and put them back.  
“Okay, okay, no sparkles.” After a few more minutes of digging, the omega had produced two pairs of plain jeans.

“You’re about the same size as I am--well, was, before this little one came along,” the omega chuckled, patting his belly. “These should fit. Why don’t you go try them on? I’ll just be outside if you need any help.”

Sam didn’t think he needed any help to put on a pair of pants, but he let the omega stand outside the dressing room as he pulled on the new jeans. They were pretty comfortable, but Sam almost immediately ripped them off when he looked at himself in the mirror.

“How do they fit?” the omega asked from outside the door.

“They’re too tight,” Sam said gruffly.

“Let me see.”

Sam opened the door and the omega looked him up and down before smiling widely. “They don’t look too tight to me- I think they fit perfectly.”

“But…” Sam began, gesturing to his rear end. It was what had caught his attention in the mirror. His ass was clearly defined, even in the dark denim. 

The omega chuckled again. “That’s how omega jeans are supposed to look. But I can understand how it can be a bit strange, if you’re used to wearing alpha and beta jeans.”

Allison and Stiles appeared then, their arms laden with selections. Mostly Allison’s selections, but Stiles looked pleased nonetheless. Allison looked at Sam with approval.

“Those look great, Sam! You can actually tell you have an ass.” The salesperson and Stiles snorted.

“We found a bunch of stuff for Stiles to try on, and even something for you, too,” Allison said. 

“For me? I think I’m good with the jeans,” Sam said weakly.

“Just try it on,” Allison continued. She revealed a long, emerald green maxi dress in a soft faux satin fabric. Two thin sraps held it on the hanger as Allison held it up.

“Isn’t it gorgeous? You’ll look amazing in it,” Allison gushed.

“No way,” Sam said, looking at the dress in horror. It wasn’t a bad dress, per se, but…it was a dress.

“Actually, your friend is spot on,” the salesperson commented, fingering the fabric. “Most omegas are too short to wear maxi dresses like this, but you’ll be able to pull it off beautifully. And the color will really set off your eyes.”

“Did I not say the same exact thing?” Allison said, turning to Stiles. He nodded, and Sam glared at him.

“Look, Sam, you’ll need something to wear to solstice, anyway. Why don’t you just try it on?” Stiles was barely visible behind the pile of clothes in his arms, but Sam heard him loud and clear.

“Fine,” Sam sighed. He reentered the dressing room with the dress as Allison pushed Stiles into the adjacent stall.

Sam took his time with the jeans, and by the time he was ready to put on the dress, Allison and the salesperson had already vetoed three of Stiles’ outfits. 

Sam took off the rest of his clothes and stood in his underwear in front of the dress. This was all for Stiles’ benefit, right? And he would be expected to wear a dress to the solstice festival, even if that was months away.

Sam took a deep breath and took the dress off the hanger, and he felt the material slide down his body as he put it on. He tied the thin braid of material at the waist and adjusted the straps so they sat comfortably on his shoulders before finally risking a look at himself in the mirror.

It had been years since Sam had worn a dress, and he could barely recognize himself. The material flared out from the braid at his waist and fell down his legs, ending a few inches above the top of his feet. Instead of looking bulky, as he had expected, the straps of the dress made his shoulders look thinner, and the fabric clung to him attractively in all the right places. The neckline went straight across, and it wasn’t too low.

It wasn’t horrible. Sam looked at the price tag- that was doable too.

Sam jumped when Allison knocked loudly on the door. “Jesus, Sam, are you done yet? We want to see how the dress looks!”

She then knocked sharply on Stiles’ door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Stiles said.

The two omega best friends opened their doors at the same time, and the Allison’s and the salesperson’s mouths dropped open.

“You both look absolutely gorgeous,” Allison breathed.

“It’s okay,” the best friends said at the same time, and they smiled at each other. They both were more than a little shocked at the other’s appearance.

Stiles was wearing a pale purple dress that fell a few inches above his knee, with long sleeves, a simple neckline, and a chiffon overlay on the skirt. It was perfect for Stiles’ smaller frame and lighter complexion.

“No arguments- you both are getting the pieces you’re wearing,” Allison declared. “And Stiles, that’s what you’re wearing tomorrow.”

Stiles had protested when Allison made him try on the rest of the items, but she said that it was bad luck to only get one outfit. He wanted another date, right?

Sam watched, his two pairs of jeans and the emerald dress hanging over his arm. Allison turned to him when Stiles was trying on his last dress.

“Sam, go pick out a nice shirt to wear tomorrow,” the alpha ordered.

“Why can’t I wear the one I wore last time?” Sam complained. Allison rolled her eyes.

“I’ll go get a few things,” the salesperson said with a grin. He returned with a flowy red top that Allison immediately loved, and Sam added to his pile grudgingly.

After a stop at the shoe store- where Allison almost deafened them by squealing when she found a pair of ballet flats that would go perfectly with Stiles’ outfit- they reunited with Scott. The beta was stuffing his face at the food court.

“Took you guys long enough,” the beta said, although he was smiling. 

“Well, we have more to do, but it can be done in Lawrence,” Allison said, and Sam and Stiles looked at her.

“What else is there to do?!” Sam asked.

“Umm, make-up? Hair product? Something to get eighteen years of hair off Stiles’ legs? Personally, I never liked the hairy look on omegas. And boys, you are always welcome to use my products, but I think it’s time for you two to get some basics,” Allison said with a firm nod.

“Ugh,” was Sam’s only response.


	6. Chapter 6

“Stiles!”

“What?”

“Your leg! It‘s driving me insane.”

Sam nodded pointedly at the omega’s left leg, which was still jiggling even as the entire assemblage stopped to look at it.

“Sorry,” Stiles said sheepishly. “I guess I’m a little nervous about tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight?” someone asked from behind Stiles, and the entire company tried (in Sam’s case, failed) to hide their grimaces. 

Meg Masters was academically eligible to be a part of the Nerd Herd, but socially? Not so much. She was disliked by everyone in the little group. Kevin tolerated her, but only because she was a damn good debater and he couldn’t risk alienating her and having her leave the team.

The beta female sat down next to Stiles and primly crossed her legs beneath her. 

“Oh, nothing,” Stiles said quickly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It must be if you’re nervous about it,” Meg replied. “Something to do with Derek Hale, perhaps? I saw you talking in the hall to him this morning.”

Stiles looked to Sam desperately. If Meg knew about the date, then the entire school would know by next period. Meg wasn’t popular by any means, but she had a way of spreading information that put anything you told her on the school’s radar very quickly.

It wasn’t very endearing. 

“Mind your own business, Masters,” Allison sniped. Allison could be pushy, but her alpha lack of censorship made her very useful in these situations. And no one hated Meg more than Allison.

Meg ignored the alpha. “Don’t know why you’re wasting your time with that loser, Stiles. He may be rich, but his family’s about the most crooked in this town.”

Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “You don’t even know him!”

Meg scoffed. “Please. I know about everyone in this town. And Derek Hale? He’s bad news.”

“Shut your trap, before I shut it for you,” Allison growled in warning. “I mean it.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Meg said, but the group could see her shrink a little under Allison’s glare.

“While tempting, I don’t think you’re worth the jail time,” Allison shot back.

“Okay, okay, enough with the murder talk, alright? Let’s just all take a deep breath,” Scott said, sitting up from his makeshift bed on the grass. Allison continued to shoot dirty glances at Meg, but she calmed down a little when Scott put a hand on her shoulder.

“C’mon, Stiles- I need to get something from my locker,” Sam said, standing up and brushing the grass off his jeans. He could tell that Stiles was upset, his hands still clenched in fists and his face flushed in anger. The two omegas gathered their belongings and went back inside.

“Don’t pay any attention to that nitwit, Stiles. She puts people down to make herself look better,” Sam said as they walked towards his locker. “She’s got a serious case of alpha envy.”

“I don’t care about her, Sam,” Stiles replied in frustration. “The problem is that she’s not the only one who thinks that stuff about Derek. The whole freaking town is the same way.”

Sam knew it wasn’t much of an exaggeration. The Hales were the richest family in town, and one of the richest families in all of Kansas. Their farm monopoly was legendary- they were one of the biggest producers of wheat in the country. Fifty years ago Derek’s grandfather had come from New York with a ton of capital from their firm in the city and had bought out every farm in Lawrence and as well as all the others in a hundred-mile radius. And fifty years later, the town was still bitter.

It didn’t help matters that Derek’s uncle, Peter Hale, was a state senator and had a notorious reputation when it came to drinking and women. It also didn’t help that Derek’s mother and sisters had almost permanently relocated to New York- and when they did come to Lawrence, their snobbery didn’t endear them to anyone.

“He’s not like them,” Stiles said softly. “He’s not.”

Sam remembered Dean saying the same thing at the shooting range. And if anyone had a bone to pick with the Hales, it was Dean. 

His grandfather had owned one of the farms bought by the Hales, and had squandered the money on alcohol and gambling. It turned out to be a case of like father, like son, because Dean’s father had long since abandoned Dean’s mother and Dean himself. Florence Smith cleaned houses for a living, and from the looks of their tiny house, they made just about enough to eat and pay the bills.

“Well, he obviously has good taste in dates,” Sam replied, and Stiles smiled for the first time. 

“Once you get to know Derek, I think you’ll like him,” Stiles said. 

It wasn’t that Sam disliked Derek- and to be honest, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the alpha’s family. It was the rumors about Derek himself- that he was a love ‘em and leave ‘em sort of guy- that still made Sam uneasy about Stiles being involved with Derek.

“I’m sure I will,” Sam assured Stiles with a smile. Sam really wasn’t sure at all, but Stiles was already nervous. If Stiles thought Sam was going into the date with bad feelings, then Stiles would have a horrible time. And since Sam had committed to the date, he was hell-bent at making sure at least Stiles enjoyed it.

That’s what best friends were for, right?

***

“You’re so lucky you’re my best friend, Hale,” Dean groaned. 

The two alphas were in the florist on Main Street. Derek had insisted on getting Stiles a bouquet for that night, and had tugged Dean in along after him. Derek had wanted Dean’s opinion on every nosegay in the case.

“What the fuck do I know about flowers?” Dean had responded after the first inquiry, but Derek had ignored him and continued.

“None of these are right,” Derek despaired.

“Jesus, Derek, you could probably pick a couple of dandelions off your front lawn and he’d be happy,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. 

Before Derek could respond, someone appeared beside them. “Can I help you?” the saleswoman said cheerfully.

“I could’ve used some help ten minutes ago,” Derek said with a raised brow, and the woman had the good sense to blush.

“I’m sorry sir…I was in the back working on something.”

“Like the next level of Flappy Bird?” Dean said, looking pointedly to the phone in the woman’s apron.

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek interjected. “You’re here now. I need an arrangement for tonight. Something nice. None of these are what I’m looking for.”

“I’m sure we can put together something nice. What’s the occasion?” the woman asked, going behind the counter to where the loose flowers were stored.

“I have a date,” Derek responded. 

“What colors does your date like?” the woman asked. “That’s usually where I start.”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “We’ve just started getting to know each other.”

“So it’s a first date,” the woman said, nodding wisely. “Well, sir, you can never go wrong with roses. They’re classic. And we’ve just gotten in a fresh supply.”

“I don’t know…they’re sort of cliché,” Derek said, his face furrowed in thought. 

“Maybe red roses- but look at these,” the woman said, pulling a rose from a container beside her. They were a lovely light pink.

“That’s the color of the lipstick he was wearing the other night,” Derek said softly, and Dean looked at his friend in horror. Since when had Derek turned into such a fucking girl?

“I’ll take two dozen of those,” Derek declared, and the woman beamed. 

“Of course, I’ll make the bouquet right now.”

The two alphas leaned against the counter while the woman worked. “Do you want to get something for Sam?” Derek asked.  
“Why the hell would I do that?” Dean replied in annoyance.

“I don’t want him to feel left out,” Derek replied. 

“Look, Sam is just as unwilling an accomplice in this whole scheme as I am,” Dean said. “He won’t give a shit.”

“Whatever you say, Dean.” 

A few minutes later the woman wrapped the bouquet in paper and held it up for Derek’s inspection.

“It’s perfect,” Derek said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Sixty dollars,” the woman replied, placing the bouquet on the counter.

“Sixty bucks?” Dean cried, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Derek produced a credit card and handed it to the woman. “Stiles deserves it,” Derek said to Dean.

“And you deserve at least a hand job for that,” Dean said when they were outside, pointing to the bouquet.

“Good to know you’re as romantic as always, Dean,” Derek said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “You know, if you really wanted to get something for Sam, I’ll pay. You can get me back when you can.”

“Drop it Hale,” Dean growled. This was Derek’s date, not his. Why wouldn’t the guy leave it alone?

“Alright, alright,” Derek said as the two alphas hopped in the Camaro. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Ten minutes later Derek and Dean approached the Hale house, the Camaro speeding along the paved driveway. Dean had been to Derek’s a thousand times, but his jaw still dropped when he saw the stone mansion, four stories high and even wider, with a colossal porch and 300 acres of land that boasted a guest house, a swimming pool and a stable.

Derek parked the Camaro in front of the house and grabbed the flowers from the back seat. Dean followed Derek up the steps of the house to the porch, where Mr. Hale was sitting on his laptop.

Mr. Hale looked up from his laptop and his eyes flicked to the bouquet in Derek’s hand. “What are those for?”

“Got a date,” Derek replied briskly.

“Oh? With…oh, what’s her name…Kit?”

Derek clenched his fist around his keys. “It’s Kate…and I broke up with over a year ago, Dad.”

Before the elder Hale could respond, his cell rang. “Have a nice time,” he said before waving the boys away and answering the phone.

“Asshole,” Derek said under his breath as he entered the house. Dean couldn’t have agreed more. Not only did Mr. Hale not acknowledge his existence on a regular basis, he didn’t even care enough about Derek’s life to know he had broken up with that gold-digging bitch Kate forever ago.

Derek’s grimace melted off his face and was replaced with a bright smile as the two alphas entered the kitchen.

“Just in time, ragazzi,” the blonde woman said. “The pie is just cool enough to eat.”

Derek circled the island in the center of the kitchen and gave the older woman a kiss on the cheek. “You’re too good to us, Magdalena.”

“Are those for me?” Magdalena asked innocently in a thick Italian accent, nodding to the flowers in Derek’s hand.

“Not today,” Derek said with a wink.

“Mio dio, they are absolutely gorgeous,” Magdalena said, taking them from Derek. “Stiles will love them.”

“I hope so,” Derek grinned.

“E tu?” Magdalena said, giving Dean a pointed glance. “Where are the flowers for Sam, eh?”

“Not you too,” Dean groaned. “Sam is not my date. He’s a babysitter, just like me.”

“Forse che no,” Magdalena tutted, “but he will feel like chopped kidney, no?”

“It’s chopped liver, Magdalena,” Derek said wryly.

“Whatever,” Magdalena said. She served Dean and Derek pie and then pointed a finger at Dean.

“You eat my pie, you take my flowers,” she declared. “My daisies are perfetti.”

“I just came for the pie,” Dean complained.

“Mio caro, when a young man cares for someone, he brings them flowers,” Magdalena said. “And Sam is more than just a baby-sitter to you, no?” 

The woman raised an eyebrow at Dean, who turned to Derek.

“Do you tell her everything?” Dean asked incredulously.

Derek shrugged, his mouth full of pie.

“I may be an old woman, but I know something about amore,” Magdalena said, grabbing a pair of gloves and some clippers. “I’ll be back.”

Before she went through the kitchen door to the garden out back, she turned. “Oh, and Derek, give Mr. Dean something nice to wear, eh? And ragazzi, shave your faces. You are beginning to look like wolves.”

***

After the day before’s depilatory battle, Sam had been dreading the pre-date makeover. Sam was surprised to find it had gone relatively fast, and soon Stiles was standing before him, hair curled, make-up applied, and clad in his new dress. 

“You look amazing, Stiles,” Allison declared. 

Stiles looked at Sam for confirmation. “You do,” Sam admitted. It was weird seeing Stiles in anything but jeans and a tee, but the omega did look nice.

“I brought you a clutch for the night,” Allison said, handing Stiles a small black bag. “I put some makeup in there, and halfway through the date you go to the restroom and touch it up like I showed you.”

Stiles accepted the bag and flopped down on his bed. “Ugh, I’m so nervous,” he moaned. “I just know I’m going to do something embarrassing, like spill food all over myself or trip and fall on my face.”

“You’ll be fine,” Allison said soothingly. “But even if you do trip and fall on your face, your makeup is flawless and you’ll still look gorgeous.”

The alpha grinned at her friend who visibly relaxed. 

“Thanks, Allison. For everything,” Stiles said sincerely.

“Just doing my friendly duties,” Allison replied. She looked at Sam and then nodded towards the bathroom.

“Time for you to get changed.”

Sam rolled his eyes and went to his closet, pulling out the red top he had gotten at the mall. He donned it and came out of the bathroom to Allison’s critical eye.

“You need to wear the butt jeans,” Allison said seriously. Sam winced.

“Really?” he whined.

“Really.”

He did as he was told and changed into the omega jeans he had gotten the day before. This time when he came out, Allison looked pleased.

“That top is fabulous and your legs are to die for,” Allison declared.

Sam hadn’t ever really thought of himself as anything but too tall and lanky, but when he turned all the way around at Allison’s request, she deemed him “runway-worthy.” Sam wasn’t sure what that meant.

He slipped on the only pair of omega shoes he had, black flats, and let Allison take his hair down and put soft waves into it with the curler. She applied the bare minimum of mascara, respecting Sam’s wishes (for once) in regards to his appearance.

“Perfect,” she decided, packing up her things. She took Stiles’ hands in hers when she was finished.

“It’s going to be great. Call me right after, okay?” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“I will,” Stiles said with a nervous smile.

“And before I forget- get-together at Gus’s on Monday night for Sam’s birthday!” she reminded them, heading out the door.

“We’ll be there!” Stiles called back.

Sam groaned. He always preferred to let his birthdays pass unnoticed, but with friends like his (especially Stiles) that never happened.

The two omegas headed downstairs, where the two sheriffs were sitting on the couch watching TV. They didn’t react as dramatically to the two omegas as they had the last time, but there was still a lot of staring.

Sheriff Stilinski stood up and took a good look at Stiles. “Hard to believe an dull guy like me has such a beautiful son,” he said, and Stiles blushed. 

“Thanks, dad,” he said softly.

Sam and John looked to each other in silent horror- the family bonding was imminent, they could taste it.

“I want you to have a great time tonight, alright?” the sheriff said. “So…I’m giving you a little good-luck charm.”

Stiles looked on curiously as the sheriff pulled a box out of his coat thrown on the couch. He opened it and removed what was inside- a simple silver chain with a small diamond pendant hanging from it.

Stiles breathed in sharply. “Dad?”

“I was going to give it to you on 18th last month, but it didn’t feel like the right time,” the sheriff said, his voice becoming gruff with emotion.

“I gave this to your mother on our first anniversary. She wore it every day- even in the shower,” the sheriff said. “And I know she would have let you borrow it for your first date.”

The sheriff walked behind Stiles and draped the necklace around the omega’s neck before clasping it shut. Stiles fingered the pendant in awe, his eyes watery. He threw his arms around his father, and the Stilinskis embraced for a long time, forgetting about the Winchesters in the room.

“I got you twenty bucks,” John said with a shrug to Sam, and the younger Winchester laughed as he accepted the bill. 

“Thanks, dad,” Sam said with a grin.

“You do look nice, though,” John said, grinning back. “You’ll be beating the boys off with a stick.”

“I doubt it, but if the opportunity arises, can I use the Smith & Wesson instead?” Sam suggested, and John laughed.

“That’s my boy.”

***

By the time the doorbell rang, Stiles had managed to stop tearing up and had even fixed his make-up by himself. Now, he was just nervous. Sam thought Stiles’ heart was going to burst out of his chest.

“I’ll get it,” Sam said, giving Stiles a quick smile. Stiles stood up and smoothed out the chiffon on his dress and clasped his hands in front of himself, biting his lip.

Sam opened the door and was immediately hit with two things- the scent of alpha and the blinding pink of the enormous bouquet Derek was holding. 

“Come on in,” he said after several moments. He let Derek pass and raised an eyebrow at Dean, who had been staring at him since he opened the door. 

The subsequent scene between Derek and Stiles was like something out of a soap opera. Derek stood slack-jawed as he looked at Stiles, and Stiles’ eyes widened comically at the bouquet.

“These are for you,” Derek managed to say, extending the roses to Stiles.

“You didn’t have to,” Stiles said, accepting the flowers and smelling them. “They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Derek replied. Sheriff Stilinski beamed at Derek, Stiles blushed, and the Winchesters and Dean had to exercise amazing self-control to keep from rolling their eyes and snorting.

When Derek finally managed to tear his eyes away from Stiles, he coughed pointedly and nodded to the daisies in Dean’s hand.

“Oh, yeah, um…I guess these are for you,” Dean mumbled, offering Sam the daisies. He looked away uncomfortably.

“How’d you know daisies were Sam’s favorite flowers?” John asked before Sam could respond.

Sam looked at his father. “How did you know that?”

John shrugged.

Sam took the flowers from Dean and tried not to laugh at the face Dean was making. “Do I have Derek to thank for these?” Sam asked, amusement coloring his features.

“Derek’s housekeeper, Magdalena” Dean admitted, his discomfort fading as he looked at Sam’s smile. God, but the omega was stunning. And clearly a master at handling awkward situations.

Sam chuckled. “Well, tell her I said thank you.”

“I will,” Dean replied. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Well, you boys better get going,” Sheriff Stilinski said, taking the roses from Stiles. “I’ll bring these home. Have fun, and drive safe, alright?”

“We will, sir,” Derek said, shaking the sheriff’s hand. 

“And remember what I told you, alright?” the sheriff whispered into Derek’s ear as Stiles put on his sweater.

Derek nodded. “I will.”

***

Sam could not believe how well things were going. 

Dean and Sam were sitting across from Derek and Stiles at a booth in a steakhouse on the outskirts of Lawrence. The car ride had been awkward, but as soon as Derek had brought up that night’s concert after they had been seated at the restaurant, Stiles had started talking.

It turns out both Stiles and Derek had played the violin as children, and while Stiles still played, Derek had given it up long ago. The conversation flowed easily from music to school to future plans.

The only one who seemed ill at ease was Dean. Far from his usual too-cool-for-school alpha manner, he fidgeted uncomfortably in his jeans and black button-down the entire time- that is, when he wasn’t shooting looks at Sam.

Sam had predicted (to himself, of course) that Dean would absolutely obnoxious during the date, but it wasn’t the case. Sam had to grudgingly admit to himself that maybe Dean wasn’t such a jerk that he would ruin Derek’s date by being a tool.  
Sam and Dean had both finished their meals quickly, as Stiles and Derek were too busy talking and trying to make a good impression to eat anything but daintily. Again, Sam had to admit that Derek was being the perfect gentleman. 

It was for this reason, and the fact that Dean was driving him insane with the fidgetting, that when Sam spied the felt-covered table at the back of the restaurant, he looked at Dean and asked, “Want to play some pool?”

“You play?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sam shot back. “Pool is all about angles, and I got an A in geometry.”

“Lead the way,” Dean said with his hands up, and the pair climbed out of the booth. Sam could still see Stiles and Derek from the pool table and could intervene in a second if anything happened.

Dean watched Sam choose a cue and chalk it up, and he couldn’t help the wave of arousal that went through him. The combination of Sam in those ass-tight jeans, holding a damn cue stick, and smelling sweetly of a heat? Yeah, it was hell on Dean’s libido.

“I’ve got to warn you, I’m pretty good,” Dean said as he chalked up his own cue stick. 

“We’ll see about that,” Sam said. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Should I break, or you?” Sam asked, arranging the balls on the table. 

“By all means,” Dean said, gesturing towards the table.

Sam glanced over at Derek and Stiles and found them close together, talking quietly. Sam stiffened when Derek put a hand on Stiles’ cheek. 

“He’s fine,” Dean said from behind Sam. Sam turned to look at the alpha and sighed.

“I guess so.” Sam leaned forward and positioned the cue between his fingers. 

Dean admired Sam’s ass one more time before he was distracted by Sam making his shot, breaking the balls expertly and sending a solid colored ball into a corner pocket. Sam sank two more balls before missing, standing up and leaning against the table.

Dean whistled. “Not bad.”

“For what? An omega?” Sam challenged.

“No,” Dean said. “For anyone.”

The conversation was sparse after that, but the silences weren’t uncomfortable. Dean finally seemed comfortable in his own skin, and lost in concentration as he considered his next shot, Sam thought Dean wasn’t so unpleasant. Sam thought he might actually be enjoying himself.

Dean couldn’t believe how well Sam played. He had thought that there was nothing sexier than a busty beta woman leaning over the pool table seductively, but seeing Sam, who could actually play worth a damn and give him a run for his money, was even sexier. 

Sam won by a small margin. He steeled himself for some obnoxious comment about Dean about how he had cheated or gotten lucky, but the alpha only looked at Sam with an emotion that Sam couldn’t really place.

“I should take you to Froggy’s in Bartonsville to hustle with me,” Dean said with a grin. “With your skills, you’d make a killing.” Dean stopped himself just in time from tacking “and your ass” onto “your skills.”

“I don’t think that’s really my scene,” Sam said. “But I appreciate your good faith.” Why the hell was the alpha being such a normal human being tonight?

“Darts?” Dean asked. “I think the lovebirds are still chowing down.”

A glance to the table confirmed this. They’d have to be spurred on eventually if they wanted to make it to the concert, but one game of darts wouldn’t put them behind.

“Alright,” Sam agreed. 

Sam had played maybe one game of darts in his life, and he found that even his shooting experience didn’t help much. He was trailing far behind Dean when the alpha came up behind him during his turn.

“You’re too stiff,” Dean explained. “Let me show you.”

Dean stood close behind Sam and turned the omega’s wrist gently. “You’ve got classic shooter’s wrist,” Dean said, a breath away from Sam’s ear. “You’re throwing straight, but you need to be a bit more loose for darts.”

Dean held Sam’s shoulder in place and moved the omega’s arm. “See? You can move your elbow and your wrist. Just not your shoulder.”

Dean’s hand was warm on his arm and the alpha’s scent was overpowering at such a close range. Sam couldn’t remember a time he had been this close to an alpha male that wasn’t his father or Sheriff Stilinski. Dean smelled different than them- Sam couldn’t say what was different, but there was something there that hadn’t been with the older alphas.

Dean backed off to let Sam make the shot, and the loss of the scent brought him back to himself. He squared his shoulders and threw like Dean had shown him. He narrowly missed the bullseye.

“See?” Dean said, grinning. 

Before Sam could respond, Stiles came up to them, his face flushed with happiness. “Derek’s paying. I’m heading to the restroom before we leave.”

“For all of us?” Dean and Sam asked at the same time.

“He figured it was the least he could do,” Stiles said, his smile faltering a bit when he saw the annoyed look on Dean’s face.

“Hmm,” Dean said, his eyes flicking to the front of the restaurant. “I guess I’ll meet you two outside.”

Stiles pulled Sam along to the bathroom. Sam watched as Stiles grabbed the tube of mascara from his clutch. The omega couldn’t stop smiling.

“I take it you’re having a good time,” Sam said, and he couldn’t keep from smiling himself. 

“Amazing,” Stiles said, turning to Sam. “He’s amazing. I feel like I could talk to him for hours.”

“I could see that- it took you an hour to eat a small steak,” Sam commented.

“Between the talking…and how he looks…and smells,” Stiles said, blushing slightly. “The steak wasn’t my top priority.”

“Just don’t get carried away, alright?” Sam said. “His scent will be especially appealing now.”

“I know,” Stiles said with a sigh. “I’ll be careful.”

Stiles applied more lipstick before stowing it in his clutch and turning to Sam. “It didn’t look like you were having a horrible time either.”

“Dean’s actually being decent tonight,” Sam said, thinking back on everything. 

“You know how alphas are, Sam,” Stiles said, leaning against the counter. “They’re total knotheads when they’re in a group with other alphas and betas- but alone, they can actually be good guys.”

Sam thought back to the time at Gus’. Dean had been horrible that night- but he had been surrounded by other alphas. In fact, every time that Sam could think of when Dean had been a jerk, there had been other people around.

“Maybe,” Sam said noncommittally. He wasn’t going to let Dean off the hook just yet.

***

It was a beautiful night for an outdoor concert. It was warm and breezy, and the string quartet that was playing in the lit gazebo on the town square was actually pretty good.

Derek had brought a blanket for himself and Stiles to sit on, and the pair sat a bit in front of Dean and Sam- close enough so Sam could watch like a hawk, but far enough away for privacy’s sake.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Sam had said quietly to Dean as Derek and Stiles walked ahead of them. “I’m pretty confident that Derek’s not going to do anything stupid, and I know you have places you’d rather be.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s alright.”

To be honest, Dean would go anywhere if Sam was there, even if it meant foregoing the bar. The realization caught him off guard, and he grimaced. Derek must be rubbing off on him.

Now that Dean knew that Sam not only shot well, but played pool like a pro, he was even more attracted to the omega. It was more than his scent (even though he smelled amazing). Derek had always drifted more towards the wallflower, intellectual types like Stiles- even Kate had been like that, despite her gold-digging. Dean, however, had always drifted towards people like Sam. Sam was an intellectual, no doubt- but he was cocky as hell and had the shit to back it up. 

It was what had always attracted Dean to Sam, even before Sam looked like he did now- his hair down, rustled by the wind, relaxed as he listened to the music. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Sam asked halfway through the concert. “You keep looking at me.”

“Uh, no, nothing,” Dean said quickly. Christ, what the hell was happening to him?

Towards the end of the concert, Sam saw Derek put his arm around Stiles and the omega lean in to the embrace. Sam was on alert, and it was only Dean’s hand on his mouth and his hand gripping his shirt that kept Sam from jumping up and yelling a few moments later. Derek had looked at Stiles and murmured something before pressing his lips against the omega’s. Stiles had gasped slightly before closing his eyes and accepting the kiss.  
It was gentle and chaste- much more sweet than some of the activities of the other amorous couples at the concert who were taking a little too much advantage of the full moon. 

“It’s just a kiss,” Dean whispered harshly into Sam’s ear. “Don’t freak out and ruin it.” 

When the pair separated, Sam could see that Stiles was elated. Derek wasn’t much different. But the alpha didn’t try anything else, only pulled Stiles closer. Stiles went willingly.

Sam shook Dean off. “Not freaking out,” Sam whispered back, but he crossed his arms and looked hard at the quartet like he wanted to kill them.

The concert ended and the audience found their way back to their cars or houses. Derek had parked the Camaro at Bobby’s, so they all walked towards the Winchester and Stilinski residences. Derek and Stiles were hand-in-hand in front of Derek and Sam, chatting quietly. 

Dean didn’t know what to say to the omega next to him. Sam wasn’t agitated anymore- he had this resigned look on his face that Dean just wanted to wipe off. 

To Sam’s surprise, Stiles hugged him at the beginning of his driveway on the sidewalk. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered in Sam’s ear. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Sam hugged back, and he felt like he was losing a child when he released Stiles and Derek walked the omega to his door. Dean and Sam looked away as the couple kissed again.

Derek stood on the doorstep a few moments after Stiles had gone inside, shaking his head. The alpha hopped down the steps and bounded towards Dean and Sam. He looked like he’d just won the lottery.

“Off to Chez Winchester, now?” Derek said happily.

“I can walk myself home, it’s okay,” Sam said quickly.

“It’s no trouble,” Derek replied, saving Dean from having to growl at the omega.

The two alphas and Sam walked together, and Sam thought that, despite the kiss, it had been a pretty good night. Stiles was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

Then it all went to hell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is so moved, I am looking for a volunteer to create a banner for this story! (I suck at everything photoshop-related.) You can get in touch with me on my Tumblr, powerbottomsammy. :)

Ten years earlier…

Mrs. Milton’s second-grade class sat at their table in the lunchroom, as rambunctious as ever even under the watchful gaze of the cafeteria monitor. Even Stiles and Sam were more hyper than usual, the warm May weather and Friday’s promise of a good weekend to come leading to laughter and high spirits.

“Do you think our dads will take us to the pool tomorrow?” Stiles asked his best friend, crumbs falling from his mouth as he chewed his cookie. 

“Maybe,” Sam replied, eating his yogurt thoughtfully. “But my dad said we were going shooting tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” Stiles moaned, his face turning into a frown. “That means I’m going to have to go too. Stupid shooting range and stupid stinky alphas all around.”

“It’s not so bad,” Sam said, pulling an apple out of his lunch box.

“Well you’re actually good,” Stiles mumbled. “Everyone loves you.”

“You’re good too, Stiles,” Sam said. “You just need to practice more.”

Raucous laughter erupted from the other end of the lunch table, and Sam and Stiles turned their heads to find Dean Smith standing by the last chair at the table, clutching his lunch tray and looking defiantly back at his classmates. Only Sam and Stiles seemed to notice the red on his cheeks.

“Look at that crummy sandwich!” a boy laughed, pointing at the peanut butter and jelly on Dean’s tray.

“My mom packed me roast beef and pudding,” another boy boasted from that end of the table. “Why do you have that awful sandwich, Dean?”

“Because his mom’s too poor to pack him a good lunch,” the first boy said. “So he has to eat what they give him for free.”

“We’re not poor,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “I just like peanut butter and jelly.”

“No one really likes peanut butter and jelly,” the second boy scoffed. “Besides, I know you’re poor because Mrs. Milton had to pay for you to go on the field trip the other day.”

“Yeah,” the first boy agreed. “We all saw.”

“He didn’t even have five dollars to get in to the museum,” the second boy said. “Who doesn’t have five dollars?”

“Shut up,” Dean growled, although the effect was lessened by embarrassment.

“Hey, doesn’t your middle name start with ‘P’? I saw that on the board in the classroom. Maybe it stands for poor!” the first boy shouted, and the other boys at the table laughed.

“Dean Poor Smith! Dean Poor Smith!” the second boy chanted.

“Stop it!” Dean shouted weakly. “It stands for Proctor.”

The boys ignored his protest. “Dean Poor Smith! Dean Poor Smith!”

Sam could see Dean becoming more and more upset as the other alpha boys mocked him. He looked to Stiles, who looked angry on Dean’s behalf, but was too afraid to risk the alpha boys’ wrath to do anything.

“Maybe we should tell the monitor,” Stiles whispered to Sam.

Sam shook his head and stood up, stomping over to the other end of the table.

“Stop it!” Sam said loudly, his hands on his hips. “You’re being mean.”

“Mind your own business, Sam,” the first boy said.

“Yeah, Sam. You’re just a dumb omega,” the second boy said, rolling his eyes.

“And alphas are better than omegas,” the first boy declared.

“No, they’re not,” Sam argued. “And I’m not dumb. You couldn’t even spell ‘apple’ in the practice spelling bee!” 

The first alpha boy narrowed his eyes, but they could all see the blush on his cheeks. “I wasn’t paying attention,” he mumbled. “At least I’m not poor!”

“I’d rather be poor and smart than rich and dumb- and mean,” Sam added, taking a hold of Dean’s worn shirt. “C’mon Dean, come sit with us.”

Sam smiled at Dean, but he could see the internal conflict in the other boy’s eyes- continue to sit with the other alphas and be mocked, or go sit with the omegas and be mocked for that.

Dean was saved from making a choice when the monitor, an elderly woman who wasn’t very fast on her feet- or the uptake- finally came up to the table.

“Quiet down, gentleman. Dean, Sam asked you nicely to sit with him. Go on now,” the monitor said, waving her hand towards the other end of the table.

Sam ignored the alpha boys as they chuckled when he led Dean down to the other end of the table. The young alpha sat across from Stiles and Sam, the former smiling weakly (he was still a little afraid of alphas) and the latter shaking his head.

“Don’t listen to them, Dean. They’re just stupid and mean,” Sam said, resuming the consumption of his apple. 

Dean nodded but didn’t speak. He took a bite of his sandwich, and only Sam could see the grateful smile that the alpha gave him when the rest weren’t looking.

***

Sam shot three rounds in quick succession into the target’s heart. He narrowed his eyes, and the more murderous part of his brain imagined that the target was Dean, his stupid leather jacket soaked with blood as he crumpled to the ground.

Sam shouldn’t have been so bothered. It was a gorgeous Sunday, and although he had his AP Calc exam the next day, it was also his birthday and he felt more than confident that he would do well the rest of the school year.

Dean was just a stupid knothead with nuts for brains. Why was Friday night getting to him so much?

***

Five years earlier…

Dean Smith, seventh-grader and class clown, was miserable.

He wasn’t miserable because he had just failed Mr. Whittemore’s history test- although he definitely had just done that. He was miserable because Sam Winchester had caught glimpse of his grade and had raised his eyebrows in disapproval.

And if there was something Dean didn’t want to see on that omega’s face, it was disapproval.

You see, Dean was in the throes of possibly the biggest crush anyone had ever had on anyone ever- he knew this with a certainty he had only felt about a few things in life.

This wasn’t like the time in the fourth grade when he had kissed Cassie Robinson during gym. He had felt butterflies in his stomach then, but they were nothing compared to what he felt when Sam just looked at him. Caught his eye in the hallway or during class.

Dean was messed up.

He thought about Sam all the time- the way he walked, the way he talked during class, knowledgeable and self-assured, the way he held his books between classes. The way the natural highlights in his long hair glinted in the sun when he sat by the window, the way he smiled when his best friend Stiles said something amusing at lunch.

Dean was staring at such a smile when Derek elbowed him in the side. “You should ask him to the dance on Friday,” the other alpha whispered.

Dean’s best friend Derek was the only person on the planet who knew about Dean’s crush. Dean hadn’t even told him- the alpha had just sort of figured it out on his own. Dean was glad the other alphas in their gang weren’t so perceptive.

“Nah,” Dean murmured, shaking his head. “It’s going to be lame.”

The entire seventh-grade was abuzz in anticipation of the first dance that they had ever had. Every giggling conversation in the hallway and bathroom, every note passed surreptitiously in class was about the upcoming dance and who was taking whom, and had Scott actually asked Allison, and do you think Derek would take me?

“Maybe,” Derek conceded. “But at least you’ll be with Sam, right?”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied quietly.

It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind every five seconds for the past week. There would be slow-dancing, and Dean was very interested in the thought of having the omega close to him, Dean’s hands on his thin hips. 

“If you go, I’ll go too,” Derek offered. “Not with anyone, but I think some of the guys are going just by themselves. You can borrow one of my suits- I already asked Magdalena, and she said it was ok.”

Derek smiled encouragingly at Dean. Dean just grunted and continued to eat his lunch. The thought wouldn’t stop nagging him, though.

Dean was unusually quiet the rest of the day, lost in thought. Could he really take Sam to the dance? In a borrowed suit from Derek, no less? He didn’t even know how to dance. And he wouldn’t be able to afford one of the fancy corsages all of the girls and omegas whispered about.

Dean shot a glance at Sam. Sam had never cared about any of that stuff, with him or anyone else. Sam only cared about how hard you tried in school and how nice you were. It was something that Dean admired in the omega, even if he couldn’t admit it.

The bell rang and the class was dismissed for the day. Derek and Dean walked out last in companionable silence. 

They were ten yards away when they saw Sam alone at his locker. It was odd for Stiles to not be with him, but Dean vaguely remembered that Stiles played the violin and that he went directly to the music room after school.

“Look, he’s by himself. Go,” Derek said, nudging Dean forward. “Or are you a chicken?”

“What are you, five?” Dean replied, rubbing his neck in nervousness. Derek shrugged and nodded towards the omega.

Derek was right- this was a perfect opportunity. And he wasn’t a chicken.

Dean took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and walked to Sam’s locker. He looked back at Derek, who waved him on.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean mumbled, looking at the floor and scuffing his feet. 

The omega closed his locker and turned to look at Dean and tried to hide his surprise. “Umm, hi Dean,” the omega replied. Sam looked at Dean curiously as the alpha fidgeted.

“Did you need something?” Sam asked when the two had stood in silence for several moments. The omega adjusted the backpack on his shoulders and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean finally looked up at the omega. Sam was so pretty. Was he an alpha, or was he a chump? He could do this.

“I…I just wanted to ask…” Dean began, when they both turned. Dean and Derek’s gang of alpha cronies were chasing each other down the hall, cursing and laughing. They stopped when they saw Dean with Sam and started whispering to each other.

“Wanted to ask what?” Sam said when Dean hadn’t continued. He shot the alphas a glare before looking back to Dean.

Under the alphas’ scrutiny, Dean felt completely wrong. This wasn’t right. Sam wasn’t the type of person Dean was expected to take to the dance- maybe a beta female like Lydia Martin or hell, even like Cassie- not an omega like Sam, who was taller than almost all of the alphas in their grade and hadn’t even started to wear lip gloss and omega clothes like the other omegas.

“Just wanted to ask…whose grandpa you stole those jeans from,” Dean finished, and the alphas watching hooted in laughter. Dean could hear Derek sigh in disappointment behind him as he shot the other alphas a grin.

Sam pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes before stalking off towards the exit. Dean watched him and felt his heart drop.

***

Sam shot another couple of rounds as he thought back to that day in seventh grade. Sure, Dean had been obnoxious before then, your typical class clown- but he had never been mean until that day.

As the years had gone on, and Sam had gone on to accelerated classes and Dean had wallowed with the under-achievers, they hadn’t seen much of each other. Sam knew from hear-say that once Dean had begun to show signs he was a shifter, and he had finally fixed up that old Impala, that Dean had gone from class clown to resident cool guy--and if the rumors were to be believed, not a little loose with the females and omegas.

Sam had almost been ready to give Dean the benefit of the doubt after how well he had done during the date--was almost ready to chalk up Dean’s previous behavior to being in proximity to knothead alphas and wanting to remain the cool guy. But after that night? There was no way.

***

Two days ago… 

Sam walked in silence with Derek and Dean. It was still a gorgeous night, and not so late that he couldn’t get a little studying done before bed. Sam knew that Stiles’ promised call would come as soon as he got in, instead of tomorrow, so he walked a bit a head of the alphas, wanting to get home.

He had to admit that Derek had been excellent that evening, even with the kiss. The rational part of his brain knew that at 18, Stiles was more than ready to kiss and be kissed. The irrational part? Still was coming around to that conclusion.

Sam knew that there would be another date, and although he felt sad, he also felt relieved that he would be able to let Derek and Stiles go alone. 

The trio had almost reached the Winchester house when an engine roared down the street. A few moments later, a red car screeched to a stop beside them, filled with alphas. The driver and someone in the backseat leaned their heads out of the windows.

“Hale! Smith!” the driver called out. “How was your date with the nerds?”

“Couldn’t have gone that well if Hale’s alone at ten-thirty,” the one in the backseat said with a smirk, and the rest of the alphas laughed.

“Losing your touch there, Hale?” the alpha in shotgun shouted.

Sam looked at Derek and saw that the alpha’s fists were clenched and the expression on his face was one of pure anger. 

“Get the hell out of here,” Derek spat.

“Aww, c’mon Derek, we’re just having some fun,” the driver said in mock regret. “In fact, we’re on our way to Froggy’s right now. Why don’t you hop in and come and have some real fun?”

“I’ll pass,” Derek growled.

“Ugh, you’re turning into such a buzz kill,” the driver said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Dean.

“What about you, Smith? I know you won’t pass up a chance to hustle, and that waitress you like is working tonight- you know, the one with the huge tits?” The alpha gang laughed and whistled.

“Or do you want to stay with the sasquatch omega and do math problems all night?” the backseat alpha called out, and the rest of alphas laughed again.

Suddenly all eyes were on Dean- Derek’s were expectant and still angry, and Sam’s were narrowed, his arms crossed in front of him.

It felt like the fucking seventh grade all over again. And apparently, Dean hadn’t grown much.

“Hell, no,” Dean called back. “It’s bad enough that I had to spend this much time with the nerd.”

Sam’s arms fell to his sides. “Screw you, Dean,” he said venomously as he turned on his heel and walked quickly back to his house.

The alphas in the car cat-called Sam as the omega stalked off. 

“See you there!” the driving alpha called out as he revved the engine and the car sped away. A few seconds later the two remaining alphas heard the door slam at the Winchester house.

“Congratulations, Dean!” Derek said sarcastically. “You’ve officially ruined any chance you ever had with Sam. Way to fucking go.”

Derek turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking back towards Bobby’s.

“Hey! Are you really not going to Froggy’s?” Dean called to him desperately.

Derek turned. “No, I’m not, Dean. I’m tired of those fucking knotheads and all the shit they pull. I’m done with them. And until you get your head out of your ass and start acting like a normal fucking person, I’m done with you too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asked, although the guilty churning in his gut was answer enough.

“What you just did was really shitty, Dean, and Sam doesn’t deserve it. All he’s ever done is be nice to you, but here you are, hell-bent on being a prick. It was maybe understandable in the seventh grade, but you’re eighteen fucking years old, Dean. Grow up.” 

Derek turned again and walked away, leaving Dean reeling on the sidewalk. What the fuck had just happened?

***

Sam shot his final three rounds, anger still burning inside of him. The usual group of alphas watched him warily as he packed up, throwing his gear aggressively into his bag.

The door opened and Dean walked in, eyeing Sam. When the omega caught sight of him, he threw his bag over his shoulder and walked past without a word, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had gone to the shooting range hoping to see the omega there. He hadn’t gone in knowing what to say, or do, but his feet had taken him there without a thought.

He had gone to Froggy’s on Friday night, guilt and Derek’s words plaguing him. He had gotten obscenely drunk and had taken the first beta woman to make eyes at him to the back of the Impala. When he had woken in the morning, his head pounding and his stomach twisting, he found a pair of underwear thrown on the front seat, the smell of sex and alcohol thick.

He had promptly thrown open the door and vomited in the parking lot.

He spent the rest of the day miserable, more hungover than he had ever been in his life and regretting every decision he had ever made. 

On Sunday morning, he called Derek. He didn’t pick up.

Sunday evening found Dean underneath a car at Bobby’s. Bobby had raised a brow as Derek had left without even a glance at Dean when the alpha arrived. Bobby watched Dean now, working diligently but wordlessly. Usually the young alpha had a lot to say when he was in the garage, but tonight Dean was quiet. When he did speak, he was withdrawn. Away from the other alphas, Dean’s emotions always shown through clear as day- and Bobby could tell the boy was going through something rough.

Bobby didn’t like to interfere in his employees’ lives- it wasn’t any of his damn business. But Dean had always been more to him than an employee. Dean was like the son he had never wanted but grudgingly accepted into his shop without a thought.  
“What’s on your mind, boy?” Bobby asked gruffly when Dean was washing his hands.

“Nothing but the shitty engine on that Honda,” Dean replied. “Going to be a bitch to fix.”

“Seems like maybe there’s something else,” Bobby said casually.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you didn’t put the oil cap back on and got the shit all over my shop,” Bobby said, nodding to a puddle of grease on the floor.

“Fuck,” Dean swore under his breath. “I’ll clean it.”

“I’ll get it if you tell me what the hell is wrong with you, Smith. Not like you to be so careless. Gotta be something on your mind.”

“It’s nothing,” the young alpha mumbled, moving to the puddle on the floor.

“Don’t you lie to me, boy,” Bobby said. “Don’t think I didn’t see the stink eye Hale gave you when you walked in.”

Dean didn’t respond, just grabbed a mop and started to push the grease around on the floor.

“I usually make it a policy to keep drama out of my shop, but when my best employee starts making stupid mistakes, I make it my business to find out what’s going on,” Bobby said, leaning against the hood of a wrecked Ford. 

“Derek didn’t say anything?” Dean asked, moving the mop slowly back and forth.

“Naw, just said something about him having a date this past Friday,” Bobby answered. “Boy looked happier than a fly on shit when he talked about that omega…what’s his name, Stiles?”

Dean nodded.

“He mighta said something’ bout you coming along too,” Bobby said.

Dean gripped the handle of the mop tighter and didn’t respond. He already felt bad enough, guilty for treating Sam like shit and stupid as hell for letting the alphas play him like that. He didn’t want Bobby to know how much of an idiot he had been.

“Let me tell you something’, Dean,” Bobby began. “Don’t worry, this ain’t some Oprah shit. Just real life, you understand?”

The older man crossed his arms. “Bout twenty years ago there was a man who lived around here- name was Rufus. Best damn fisherman in all of Kansas and a hell of a mechanic too.”

Bobby looked at Dean. “He was also the best damn friend I ever had. You wanna know what happened to him?”

“What?” Dean said, looking at the ground.

“I ain’t got no idea, Dean. We had a stupid fight over some insignificant bullshit, and a couple months later he moved. No idea where he went to. And every damn day I kick myself for not speakin’ up when I should’ve . You understand where I’m going with this, Smith?”

“I guess,” Dean mumbled. Bobby looked at him hard as he took the mop from the young alpha.

“You get out of here, boy, you got school tomorrow. And think about what I told ya, ya hear?”

***

Dean did think about it. And even scarier than the thought of fucking things up with Sam was the thought of Derek not having his back anymore. 

Dean didn’t see the two omegas or his best friend until lunch.

The Nerd Herd had seamlessly accepted Derek into their lunch group when he had shown up, tray in hand, his eyes on Stiles. And any misgivings they may have had at the beginning were blown away when Derek was as nice as could be. Not only did he dote on Stiles, but he was an interested participant in their conversation, asking how their calc exam had gone that morning and listening with rapt attention to everyone’s responses.

When everyone agreed the topic of the arduous test should be put to rest, Allison brought up Sam’s birthday get-together at Gus’s that evening.

“It’s your birthday?” Derek asked, giving Sam a warm smile.

“It is,” Sam replied, smiling back. 

“Well, happy birthday, then,” Derek said, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“Would you like to come with us to Gus’s tonight?” Sam asked the alpha. The question popped out of his mouth before he could really think about it- but when he saw Stiles’ grateful smile and Derek’s surprised but pleased one, he felt he done the right thing.

“I would love that, Sam,” Derek said honestly.

Sam grinned at the alpha before the conversation moved on.

Dean sat with the alpha gang and watched Derek, Sam, and Stiles from across the quad. He had only sat with the knotheads because he had nowhere else to go- the shop classroom was closed during lunch and he wasn’t about to eat his sandwich in the bathroom like some scared little first-year.

He listened half-heartedly to the other alphas’ conversation. After what Derek had said on Friday night, he was realizing for the first time just how dumb the other alphas’ were. All they talked about were cars and tits, and they were already planning for another Friday night at Froggy’s.

“What do you say, Smith? Hale may have decided to hang with the nerd losers, but you’ll be coming, right? Maybe you’ll have another repeat of last Friday,” one of the alphas said, waggling his eyebrows. “That beta was hot as fuck.”

Dean had no desire to get that drunk ever again, and the sex really hadn’t been all that good. He had had better orgasms from his own hand.

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes still across the quad. 

His idea of an ideal Friday night had taken a drastic turn after the past weekend’s events. It wasn’t just about the hangover or the mediocre sex, though--it was about the way Dean had felt at the steakhouse playing pool and darts with Sam. The way Sam had smelled when he had gotten close to help him with his throwing, the way he had just wanted to wrap his arms around Sam’s waist and bury his face in Sam’s neck.  
That would probably never happen now. Not with what he had said. 

But if there was one thing he could do, it was to get his best friend back on his side. 

The bell rang and everyone gathered their belongings and headed towards their next class. Dean hung around the quad until Derek had said goodbye to Stiles and was heading in the opposite direction towards the shop classroom.

“Derek!” Dean called out, jogging over to the other alpha. Derek ignored his friend and kept striding purposefully towards the school’s entrance.

“Derek, wait up!” Dean called again.

Derek opened the doors to the school without a glance back.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned under his breath. This was going to be difficult.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Two things: 
> 
> 1\. Sorry for the huge delay on this chapter. I was on vacation and then...I was lazy. This should tide you over until the next update, which should come fairly soon.
> 
> 2\. Many of you commented that you were having a hard time imagining Sam in this story. I'll do my best to do a better job describing him in the future, but for you know you can look at [this tag](http://brothertouching.co.vu/tagged/shift-inspiration) on my Tumblr. I've gathered some images that are similar to how I see Sam (all of the fan art, especially the one at the bottom which provided inspiration for this chapter), Stiles (his hair mostly), and wolf!form Dean and Derek in my head. 
> 
> Thanks for reading friends!

Dean looked through the glass panels of the door to the shop classroom, watching Derek shuck off his jacket and gather materials. The rest of the class was still finishing up their last project, but when it came to woodworking, Derek was way ahead of the game in terms of skill and creativity and was ready to begin his next project.

Dean didn’t know what Derek was planning, but from the way he was meticulously looking over pieces of wood and choosing only the best ones, it was something important.

Dean sighed and wished things would magically go back to normal as soon as he entered the classroom, Derek looking up with his usual grin and insults you could really only say to your best friend.

“You comin’ to class or you plan on stayin’ out here all day, boy?” Mr. Cain asked, clapping Dean on the shoulder and opening the door to the classroom. “Go on, now.”

Dean was thrust into the classroom with all of the grace a grizzly shop teacher could manage. The alpha sighed and squared his shoulders, walking over to the work bench that he and Derek usually shared. The other alpha didn’t look up from his project, but he didn’t ignore Dean when he spoke up.

“We need to fuckin’ talk.”

***

The day before…

Dean slumped down on the threadbare couch in his sparse living room, flipping on the TV. The old set crackled and sputtered but finally settled on an old movie channel.

The Smith residence was a tiny bungalow on the outskirts of town, boasting two small bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and nothing else. Florence Smith and her son didn’t have a lot of personal items or fancy furniture, but the alpha woman made damn sure her house was tidy inside and out.

“Thanks for mowing the grass today, baby,” Florence said when she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I was exhausted after cleaning the Hale house today. Fuckin’ ridiculous havin’ a house that big for three people. Mr. Hale must have the smallest dick on the planet.”

Florence grinned at her son, but sobered when he merely grunted in response.  
“What’s wrong?” Florence asked, sitting down beside her son and wiping an invisible smudge off Dean’s cheek.

“Nothin’,” Dean muttered. Florence didn’t miss the way Dean leaned into her touch, however, and that’s how she knew something was up. You didn’t give birth to someone and live with them for 18 years without knowing how to read them.

“You know, when I go over to the Hale house to help Magdalena, we just don’t tape our mouths shut and stare at the wall when we dust,” Florence began, pushing a stray strand of dull blonde hair behind her ear. “We talk.”

Dean grunted again and kept his eyes on the TV.

“And I was very surprised to hear that you and Derek went out with the Winchester boy and the Stilinski boy,” she continued, eyeing her son. “Not that I’m complaining- much better influence on you than those other alphas ever will be. Besides Derek, of course.”

The woman leaned back against the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table.

“She mighta mentioned that Derek came home pretty pissed that night. Not like Derek to get all bent outta shape over nothing. Been that way since I’ve known him- never threw a tantrum over anything that didn’t damn well deserve a tantrum,” Florence said. 

If there was any other woman on the planet besides Magdalena who could make observations about Derek’s character, it was Florence Smith. She had started helping to clean the Hale house when Dean was about four years old, and when she had seen little Derek neglected, playing somberly by himself in a playroom meant for a whole class of kids-well, she knew just the thing.

So Dean had tagged along with his mother all those Sundays in the beginning, eyes wide at all the toys that Derek had and that his mother would never be able to afford. He and Derek had hit it off right from the start, Derek so happy to have a friend that he shared his belongings and his friendship at a capacity that most four-year-olds could never attain.

Of course when Dean was older he learned about the history between his family and the Hales, and like everyone in town he was privy to the rumors and bad-mouthing. But his mother had made sure that Dean knew the difference between a rumor and the truth, and to not think badly of anyone until they gave you a reason. And Derek Hale had always treated Florence Smith with admiration and respect, and valued her son’s friendship more than any of the expensive toys in his playroom or horses in the stable. 

“The fact that he’s not here right now for my Sunday pot pie gives me a pretty big old suspicion that you mighta had something to do with his mood on Friday,” Florence commented. 

Dean was silent for several moments before he reluctantly opened his mouth to say something, anything to make the guilt in his gut go away. His mother spoke up first.

“Look, baby, you don’t have to tell me the details. But I can see from your face that you messed up something big.” Florence sighed and turned towards her son.

“Dean, we all make mistakes, and I ain’t gonna get on your case for that,” she started, and Dean feared he was going to get another friendship talk a la Bobby. But his mother took a different tack.

“You know I never cared if you were at the top of the class or the captain of the football team or any of that bullshit,” Florence said, looking sincerely at her son. “You’ve been dealt a bad hand, baby, and the fact that you are doin as well as you are shows that you got a lotta ambition and a lotta spunk.” Florence took a deep breath and continued.  
“Sure, you could try harder, but hell, can’t we all? You’re keeping’ a steady job and stayin above water at school, and that’s more than your daddy could ever claim,” Florence said, putting her hand on Dean’s knee.

“There’s only one thing I ever asked of you, Dean. You may be poor, you may be a bit of a knothead, you may have inherited your mother’s inability to do a damn math problem- but none of that is any excuse not to be a good person or a good friend. That’s all I want. And I don’t say it often enough, Dean, but you are- you just don’t show it all the time.”

Florence stood up and ruffled Dean’s hair. “That’s about all the parenting I’d like to do today. Just think about it, okay baby?” 

Florence winked and headed back to the kitchen. “Dinner’s in 5.”

***

His mother’s words ran through his head as Dean took a deep breath and continued.

“Look, Derek…I was a fuckin’ idiot on Friday,” Dean said, and Derek snorted derisively.

“And Friday night at Froggy’s, if the other alphas can be believed,” Derek commented. Dean guessed he deserved that.

“Yeah, then too…I was just so fuckin’ mad at myself for everything, madder than you were no doubt, and I just…well, you know I drink when I get like that.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m getting nauseous from all this touchy-feely bullshit…but…all that stuff is over, alright? If you’re done with the other alphas…then I’m done too.”

Dean hoped that the apology he would never be able to give was obvious enough in his words. Derek finally looked up and trained an eye on Dean.

“You know that Sam didn’t even tell Stiles about what you did?” Derek said, looking down again and continuing to sand a piece of plywood. “Stiles just mentioned to me outside of school this morning that Sam seemed a little off. He didn’t know anything about Friday night until I brought it up.”

Derek threw down his piece of sandpaper and sighed. “Sam wanted Stiles to have only good memories of that night, so he didn’t say a fuckin’ thing. Because Sam is a damn good friend. A better friend that you were, that’s for sure.”

“Sam’s better at everything,” Dean blurted out, annoyed and pissed with himself. Derek looked at him hard.

“When you’re not being an asshole, Dean, you’re the best fucking friend a guy could have, and I don’t give a shit if you think that’s touchy feely. You’ve saved my ass- and kicked enough other asses- enough times, alright? That asshole from Friday night? You’re better than that, Dean. I know that because I’ve known you since you were four fucking years old.”

Derek lowered his voice. “Look, Dean- hooking up with strangers from the bar is all well and good. I’m not gonna say shit about that. What I am gonna say shit about, beyond the fact that you were a shitty friend, is that you hooked up with a stranger from the bar when you had the fucking chance to make progress with someone you actually like.”

Derek picked up his sandpaper and resumed his work. “Stiles and I may have been pretty wrapped up in each other at the steakhouse, but we weren’t completely oblivious. Sam was having a good time hanging out with you, because you weren’t being a total dickhead. And honestly, Dean, from what Stiles has told me about Sam, you two have a lot in common, including one hell of a competitive streak.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Derek cut him off. “Don’t even say anything about you two being completely different people or some bullshit. Opposites don’t really attract, Dean. You like big omegas like Sam because they’re a challenge, and Sam likes a challenge too. For instance, it’s going to be a real challenge for him to forgive you after what you did, but if you mean what you said earlier about being done with the alphas and you’re ready to stop being a fucking idiot, maybe he’ll try.”

Derek looked at Dean expectantly.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. “I am ready.”

Derek nodded. “You make things right with Sam- at least a fucking start- and we’re good, alright Dean?”

Dean rubbed his eyes and groaned. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“Show up at Gus’s at around 8. Sam will be there. I think you can figure things out from there,” Derek said.

“Alright,” Dean replied, his face not showing the inner turmoil he was going through at imagining trying to talk to Sam after everything that had happened.

“Oh, and Dean? Today is his birthday,” Derek said with a raised eyebrow, letting Dean know that this was a significant piece of information he should file away. 

“Great,” Dean said under his breath.

***

Mondays were the days when Dean and Derek would go into Bobby’s late at night to work- which unfortunately meant that Dean had all afternoon to think about his impending discussion with Sam. Fortunately, though, it meant he had all afternoon to come up with something to bring to Sam for his birthday.

Dean guessed that was why Derek had made a point of sharing that tidbit of information with him. And Derek knew that Dean didn’t have any money, so he guessed he wasn’t expected to bring something extravagant. Dean didn’t want it to look like he was buying Sam’s forgiveness, and Sam wouldn’t like something extravagant anyway, Dean thought.

But while he knew that about the omega, he didn’t know much else. Sure, he knew some of his interests and skills, and had a basic knowledge of the Winchesters in general- but he didn’t really know Sam. 

Dean had about ten dollars in his pocket, the rest wasted on Friday night’s booze binge, and for the hundredth time he cursed himself for being such an idiot. 

He knew that Derek would lend him money without a second thought, but in the fourteen years the two had been friends Dean had never accepted a loan from Derek- and he wasn’t about to start now. Even if that meant he could only spend five dollars on something for Sam, the rest having to go for his dinner.

But what the fuck could you get for five dollars, even in a hick town in Lawrence? A couple of lottery tickets? Twenty of those toys from the gumball-looking machines? Dean couldn’t even offer his own labor to Sam since the omega didn’t have a car. 

Dean’s head fell against the steering wheel of the Impala with a thunk. Two hours of brooding in the front seat of his car in the school parking lot had been fruitless, and since he was beginning to look like a creep, he drove down to Main Street. 

He walked down the street, still bustling despite it being almost 5pm. He spared the stores he passed only slight glances, since he knew he couldn’t afford much. He had almost given up hope when something caught his eye in a clothing store at the end of the street. In the window there was a mannequin with long brown hair like Sam’s (Sam’s was better though, of course) tied back in a ponytail like Sam often wore. What Dean was drawn to was the daisy perched at the top of the ponytail, by voodoo, witchcraft, Dean couldn’t tell. 

Dean found himself inside the store ten seconds later, avoiding the racks and racks of clothes that he knew would overwhelm him and attempting to inch towards the window display to get a better look at the daisy.

“Can I help you sir?” the saleswoman asked pleasantly, approaching him and giving him a warm smile when she saw the ‘I am very out of my element’ look on Dean’s face.

“Umm, yeah, I guess,” Dean stammered. “That daisy on the mannequin in the window…is that just for decoration? Or…”

“Ahh! Those pieces are very popular this week for some reason! Let me show you,” the woman said, leading Dean over to a display where several more daisy…things (what the fuck was it? Dean was clueless) in different colors were hanging from a rack.

“It’s a hair tie,” the woman explained, taking one off the rack. “The flower is attached to the band, so all you have to do is tie your hair up normally and voila! A boring ponytail is turned into a cute hairstyle.”

Dean nodded because that’s what he figured he was supposed to, and the woman looked at him knowingly.

“Seeing as you have a very short cut, I’m assuming this is a gift for someone?” the woman said diplomatically, although Dean could tell she was trying not to laugh.

“Uh, yeah…a birthday present,” Dean replied. “Except…well, he’s an omega, and I’ve never really gotten anything for an omega before…”

“Well, I don’t know your omega, but these have been selling really well with other omegas! They’re cute but not too feminine,” the woman said. “Any reason you were interested in this piece?”

“Daisies are his favorite flowers,” Dean answered, and he almost blushed at how lame he sounded.

“Well, then I’m sure he’ll love it,” the woman said, beaming at Dean. “Here’s a white one- always go with the classic color! And not crumpled from the other customers.”

The woman handed the hair tie to Dean, who immediately looked at the price tag. 

Ten fucking dollars?! Dean almost collapsed right there in the middle of the store. 

“Thanks…but I guess I’ll have to pass,” Dean said, handing the hair tie back to the woman with a frown.

The woman was obviously a perceptive businesswoman, because she looked at Dean with understanding. “How much do you have, sweetie?”

“Five bucks,” Dean said sheepishly, looking down at the ground. “Well, ten, but…”

“But five is all you can spend,” the woman finished, nodding. She leaned towards Dean conspiratorially.

“We’ll make it five, this time, alright? I’ll even put it in a gift bag for you,” the woman whispered with a wink. 

Ten minutes later Dean was standing on Main Street, a gift bag in his hand and a hell of a lot more faith in humanity than he had at the beginning of the afternoon.  
Yet while choosing a gift had seemed hard at the time, he knew the hard part was yet to come.


End file.
